


Golden Leaves

by HeiszKetchup



Category: RWBY
Genre: After all it has mentor!Yang what more could you ask for, okay it's a sad fic but i promise it's a GOOD one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 67,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeiszKetchup/pseuds/HeiszKetchup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having fulfilled a promise made a lifetime before, Yang - years beyond Beacon - has let the world move forwards without her. But a little girl with the power of fire, a spirit to match, and a name as familiar as the sparks of her semblance convinces her to live in it once more.</p><p>Or, Summer returns to Yang, the blonde becomes a mentor, and age is just a part of the equation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer

_Today is Yang’s birthday. She is five._ Like most five year olds, she still finds birthdays to be special, exciting days that are to be treasured. If anything, she finds this birthday to be even more so – at least, the fact that she can still celebrate it. After all, only a few months ago, she was in a situation where she wouldn’t have had any more days to enjoy (much less birthdays). Now, she sits at home once more, with an entirely new appreciation for birthdays – which isn’t necessarily something a five year old should have, but then again, Yang doesn’t tend to stick to the norm.

That can be seen in her long, bright blonde hair, her lilac eyes, her unlocked semblance. Ruby never stops talking about the latter, and how much she herself wants to find her own power. Yang, however, is fully aware of what caused her to awaken what will one day be her famous flame (not that she knows that, yet), and can only hope that Ruby will find her own semblance in a much happier setting.

Yang shakes her head, trying to clear away the unhappy memories. She steals a glance at the very person who saved her and Ruby that day – her Uncle Qrow, who leans up against a nearby wall, eating a slice of birthday cake. Ruby, predictably, has already demolished her piece, and is trying to steal some of Yang’s. The older girl relents and slides her slice over to the silver-eyed toddler, who squeals in delight and demolishes the cake with an enthusiasm usually reserved for cult leaders and mass murderers.

As Yang attempts to dodge the pieces of flying dessert (with varying success) she steals another glance at her uncle, who quirks a corner of his mouth in a rarely seen smile. He jerks his head to the right, and Yang’s gaze slides in the direction until it falls on her father, who sits watching his daughters. It has been a long time since he has spent any more than an hour outside of his study at once, and Yang doesn’t know when it will happen again, after today.

So, as Ruby looks up at her with a wide grin, mouth coated in the remnants of her cake, Yang grins back, with a smile to rival the sun. It seems to brighten the room for a moment, and is instantly contagious; Qrow and her father both smile at the sisters’ interaction, and in that moment, everything could be considered all right again. But Yang knows that it won’t be, not for a long time – and so she is determined to smile as much as she can, especially for today. As though with her own smiles, she could make up for the ones that are missing from the room – as if somehow, she could fill in for Summer Rose. And so Yang tries, laughing along with her uncle and father as Ruby tries to dive for another slice of cake, and lands face first in it.

Later that evening, Yang’s father will give her a gift, wrapped in white paper and a golden bow. Ruby will have already fallen asleep, worn out by the day’s excitement and copious amounts of sugar. Even though the box gives nothing away, Yang knows what the gift is before she even opens it – and as she does, she vows to look after her sister, the source of her smile, with everything she has. 

* * *

 

Lilac eyes opened to stare up at the familiar ceiling. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Yang rolled over, trying to fall back into slumber. The sun streaming through the windows, combined with the annoying elderly habit of waking early, prevented her. Grumbling about the unfairness of the morning (it seemed some things never changed), Yang slowly sat up, yawning and stretching. Her joints cracked as she did, and she could practically feel her spine aligning. She stood slowly, trying to ease feeling back into her limbs – her muscles, no longer the strong ones from her youth, often got stiff in the mornings.

She turned to face the mirror, blinking sleepily at her reflection. Lines etched her face – framing the corners of her mouth, crinkling around her eyes, encompassing her features. Her hands showed age as well, her veins and tendons showing strong through the skin. Spots speckled her knuckles and the back of her hands, as if trying to cover up the small scars from her brawler days. Her hair, once her most prized feature, still shone bright. But it too had aged, replacing the blonde strands with grey – first streaked, then full. All in all, Yang looked like what she was – an elderly woman, her age showing in more ways than one.

Yang tromped down the stairs, albeit much slower than she used to. She’d always prided herself on the fact that she’d never needed one of the stair helpers, even if the stairs were a pain in the ass. Ruby had pointed out that even if she had gotten one, she never would have used it anyways (Yang begrudgingly had admitted that she was probably right). Still, helper aside, Yang made her way down to the kitchen, where a coffee machine sat, waiting to help her start her day. She waited for the dark liquid to spill into her mug, watching the sun peek over the tops of the buildings.

Coffee in hand and mind slowly starting to awaken, Yang got ready to face the day. She dressed slowly – it seemed to her that everything she did these days was slow – pulling on simple, comfy clothing. Breakfast followed soon after – toast, because she didn’t have much of an appetite in the mornings anymore – and then she was at the front door, lacing up her boots. Her teammates used to joke that one day, she’d have to trade in her laces for velcro straps. Whether it was because of her stubbornness or just the fact that no one made boots with velcro larger than children’s sizes didn’t matter – in any case, Yang still had laces.

Yang stood, ready to leave – but before she did, she glanced at the photo that sat on a shelf beside the door. Her team smiled back at her, their grins frozen in a worn photograph, faded with time. The woman had grown accustomed to saying goodbye to it – it was a comfort thing, a habit it that truly made her house feel like home.

She pulled on her old leather jacket as she went out the door. Over the years, many things had changed and much of her old attire had left her (she was still mourning the loss of her ass cape) but her leather duster had stayed, regardless of age. To Yang’s delight and comfort, it still smelled faintly of gunpowder, from her days as a huntress.

Stepping out into the street, Yang observed her neighbourhood – it had changed a lot since she’d first moved in, but it still remained a predominantly Faunus community. That had been the main reason her teammates had moved there from the start – for Blake, and because it was quite a bit cheaper. But mostly for Blake. Now, young families populated the area, which contrasted Yang in her age. It still felt like home, though, so she couldn’t complain.

Yang made her way down the street, heading out on a well known path to the nearby mechanic’s garage. She’d been heading there for years – first as a worker, then eventually just as an advisor. These days, she mostly went in to pick fun at the young owner – the grandson of Hei Xiong (or Junior, as she had known him). The descendant of her longtime adversary/tentative friend ran a local shop, which specialized in vehicle and weapon machinery. It was an odd mix, but the man who ran it was nice, even if his grandfather was a criminal. Yang made a point of calling him Junior as well, despite his name having no connection with that of any of his relatives.

Yang had once called a lot of people by nicknames. But those nicknames had been buried along with those who carried them – just another piece of the past, another reminder for Yang of what her life had once been.

* * *

 

Hours later, with the sun now finishing its arc across the sky, Yang made her way back home. She strolled along a side street, not really taking anything in, as it was the same it had been every other day. But, as she passed a small alleyway, something had changed – for the first time in Yang’s memory, the alley was occupied.

Several children stood at the end of it, three boys crowding around a much smaller girl. Yang paused, knowing what the sight was immediately. She’d seen her fair share of bullying over the years, even faced some of it herself, on her behalf and Ruby’s. Jaune and Cardin came to mind momentarily, but she shook her head, trying not to fall down that rabbit hole. She glanced back to the kids, noticing that the girl was standing up to them, shouting their words back at them.

Yang stood, watching, not sure what to do. She knew that stepping in would only make matters worse in the long run – the bullies would return another day, and the last thing she wanted was for them to tease the girl about needing an old woman to stand up for her. Yet, Yang couldn’t move away. Something about the girl’s bravery and refusal to back down struck a chord deep inside, though she couldn’t quite figure out why.

Yang continued to watch, before she realized how it probably looked to have an elderly woman watching a bunch of kids fighting in an alleyway. Shivering off the connotations, she turned to leave, trying to tune out the shouts that were growing steadily louder. It felt wrong to turn her back, but the girl wasn’t backing down, and it gave Yang some small relief against the guilt.

Then, something changed. In the alleyway, with nothing but the setting sun and the summer weather to warm the air, Yang felt the presence of something she hadn’t had in years. It was so familiar, yet so unexpected that it took Yang several seconds to realize exactly what it was. She whirled, turning back to the kids – and immediately found the source. The presence rose with the volume of the young girl’s voice, becoming increasingly more noticeable.

Yang took a deep breath before she began to walk away from the alley as quickly as she could. Shaken, she looked at her hands, taking in the faint scars of burns and battles from over the years. She stopped walking, then dropped her hands and looked to the setting sun. It wasn’t that the presence was shocking, it was just unexpected, like running into a friend you hadn’t seen for many years. For Yang, it had been a long time since she’d known that familiar feeling: the warmth of a fire semblance.

* * *

  _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is seventeen years old._ While the clock has just passed midnight, Yang still lies awake, staring at the ceiling of her Beacon dormitory. All around her, she can hear the sounds of her teammates sleeping – the soft whistle from Ruby, the occasional grumble from Weiss, and the steady breathing of Blake. She knows she should be getting sleep – after all, they have a test tomorrow, and Weiss will skin her alive if she gets a bad mark and lowers the team’s average – but Yang just can’t sleep, kept up by thoughts about birthdays.

The childlike wonder of the days has long passed for Yang, but they still hold meaning in her life. To her, birthdays are a reminder of the promise she made to protect Ruby, a promise she still keeps, even to this day. It’s that same promise that has made her realize how grateful she is to have Ruby on the same team as her - as much as she’d love for her sister to meet more people and spread her wings a little, she’s also worried about not being able to protect her the same way.

Yang laughs at herself a bit for that – she’s become more of a mother than she thought she would. It’s both a happy and sobering thought, that she filled in her mother’s shoes so well. But not fully. Yang knows that no matter how much she acts like a mother, she’ll never be one – never be able to take Summer’s place. Still, Yang knows that she’s the older sister and, mother or not, it’s her job to look after Ruby.

 _Well,_ muses Yang, sitting up and leaning over the edge of her bed, _I guess not just Ruby any more_. Try as she might to deny it, Yang knows that over the past couple of months, Weiss and Blake have also become part of the family she’s determined to protect. They’ve become sisters, in their own ways, and Yang knows that she’ll do anything to look after them, as well.

It’s safe to say that other people at Beacon have wormed their way into her family as well – perhaps not as close as Blake or Weiss, but still close, like cousins you see at every family dinner, or something. All of team JNPR, Velvet, and even Sun and Neptune – they’ve all become part of Yang’s family. The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that ‘cousin’ is the perfect title for them. That especially holds true for Sun and Neptune, who have somehow managed to become wrapped up in all their schemes, yet still belong to a team of their own.

Yang laughs softly, then falls back onto her pillow, golden hair spilling out behind her. Yang knows as well as all of them, if not better, that being a hunter or huntress can end terribly. It wouldn’t be right to say she isn’t scared – truthfully, Yang’s afraid of a lot of things: Grimm, bad hair days, losing those she loves – but she also knows that the fear of losing her friends pales in comparison to her love for them. It’s an odd, twisted sort of family she has now, but despite the fact that she’d worry less if she didn’t know them as well; she knows it’s not a family she’ll ever be able to give up. And it’s then, under the light from the shattered moon, surrounded by the peaceful sounds of her teammates’ slumber (minus Ruby’s occasional snore), that Yang knows that she now has far more to protect than just her sister.

* * *

 

Yang had never really been the type to believe in fate. She’d always kind of accept things as they were, not necessarily believing that things were ‘destined,’ but rather that they just happened. That being said, she wasn’t a huge believer in coincidence, either. At least, not when things seemed far too preplanned. Still, Yang didn’t really want to accept that the fact she kept seeing the girl around meant anything of importance. She resigned herself to believing that it really was a fluke, and because now that she’d seen the girl once already, she noticed her more.

The second time she’d seen the young girl had been in a neighbourhood nearby her own, a block or two away. Yang knew the neighbourhood well – it was also well known for being a Faunus area, and in it was Ren and Nora’s tree (the hammer warrior had planted it after their first successful mission). The girl had been facing off against two other girls, both of whom looked to be several years older.

The third time Yang had seen the girl was in a parking lot down by the docks, which wasn’t too surprising, as Yang’s neighbourhood wasn’t very far from central Vale. She didn’t know who the girl was speaking to, as they were hidden from Yang’s view, but it appeared to be yet another heated argument.

Every time Yang had passed by the girl, she’d lingered, trying not to intervene. It had been increasingly difficult, especially whenever she felt the warmth of the girl’s semblance. While it had assuaged any doubts Yang had had over whether or not she had pegged the user correctly, it also brought on a worry over the use of it. Yang knew that semblances didn’t awaken early very often – her case had been a rarity, brought on by an experience that had left her shaken for weeks. The fact that the girl had a semblance at such a young age, and a fire semblance to boot, caused Yang to believe less and less in their encounters being coincidences.

Still, despite never having talked to her, Yang had picked up on the fact that she was the abrasive type – the fact she was in a fight every time she saw her kind of gave that away. They were always against kids older and stronger than her, as well. Regardless, the girl had stood up to them each and every time, never giving in. To Yang, this was both stupid and brave – and remarkably familiar.

* * *

 

Yang’s excuse of coincidence was destroyed the fourth time she met the girl. They crossed paths late one evening, when the streetlights had come on and the sun had almost completely set. The girl sat in a playground nearby the neighbourhood Yang had seen her at before, resting on a swing, her feet pushing herself back and forth slowly. Unlike the other three encounters, the girl was alone. She still showed signs of being in a fight, however – small scrapes and bruises, the start of a black eye, and scratches on knuckles that clenched the swing chains tight.

As Yang passed by, she realized the girl was muttering something – listening closely, she realized exactly what it was.

“Calm down, cool down, calm down, cool down…”

The familiarity of the situation hit Yang like a bucket of ice water – a young kid, trying to keep control of their semblance, still far too young to properly have a handle on it. It brought Yang back to her own childhood, and she could almost feel the chains in her own hands, knowing exactly what the girl was going through. Then, before she knew what she was doing, Yang was moving.

“Breathe.”

The girl’s head snapped up, not having noticed Yang come closer. Her brow furrowed, eyes focusing on the woman in front of her.

“W-what?” she responded, both wary and confused.

Yang grimaced, cursing herself in her head. She was aware of how this must have looked to the kid – an elderly woman she didn’t know, coming up and telling her to breathe.

“You have to breathe steadily,” she clarified, “or else your semblance isn’t going to cool down.”

The girl’s face cleared, expression of confusing replaced by one of understanding. She followed Yang’s advice, breathing at a steady pace. Almost instantly, the warmth in the air dropped by several degrees.

“Good. Keep doing that.”

After a minute or two of silence, Yang held up her hands in front of the girl, palms facing upwards.

“Focus on my hands,” she said softly, “Try counting the lines in them.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed as she followed Yang’s instruction, her mouth silently forming numbers as she counted in her head. As an afterthought, Yang realized she had no idea if the girl could count any higher than ten. _Whoops._

Still, her advice was working – distracted by Yang’s very wrinkly hands, the girl’s semblance had dropped, the air temperature around them turning back to normal. Yang smiled slightly, dropping her hands and straightening up, joints protesting with cracks. She winced, then smiled back at the girl.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The girl paused, as if only realizing that her semblance had faded. She frowned, then looked up at Yang and grinned widely.

“Thanks, Granny!”

Had Yang’s semblance still been fully active, that would have been the sort of comment to send her hair into flames. As it was, any sign of a smile was wiped from her face.

“What?!” Yang cried indignantly, as if the statement was in no way true, “Listen here, you little–”

“Whoa!”

The girl interrupted her beginning tirade, staring at a cartoon watch on her wrist, as if just taking in the time of evening, despite the colour of the sky.

“Sorry, Granny!” she continued, rubbing salt in the wound, “I gotta go!”

The girl raced off, leaving Yang to swallow her irritation and turn to yell back at her.

“Wait!” she started, stopping the girl in her tracks.

She turned and looked at Yang, in slight confusion. Yang took a moment to find the words she wanted to say.

“Why are you always fighting?” she settled on, not sure how else to put it.

The girl’s expression deepened in confusion, and Yang scrambled to clarify.

“Your semblance, I mean. It’s triggered easiest by fighting, and you always seem to have activated it, so…”

The girl peered at Yang, confusion replaced by suspicion.

“Have you been… watching me?” she asked.

Before Yang could try and defend her honour against the accusation, the girl laughed and answered Yang’s question.

“I fight so the bullies don’t bother us, silly!”

With that, she turned to run off once more – but Yang called after her to stop again. The girl stopped, turned, and raised an eyebrow in expectation, waiting for Yang to speak.

“Yang,” she said simply, giving her name.

The girl’s face returned to bewilderment, clearly having no idea what that meant.

“My name,” Yang clarified, exasperatedly, “What’s yours?”

The girl replied, then sprinted off, not giving Yang a chance to call her back again. Not that the woman would have, though – the girl’s reply left her feeling like the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet. She almost felt like falling back into one of the swings, and sitting like the girl had. It had only been a name, but it was one Yang had known all too well.

“Summer.” 

* * *

 

 _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is ninety-three._ There is no longer anyone left to celebrate the day with – not that she would have, because for Yang, birthdays have long since lost their meaning. Her friends, her mentors, and her peers have all passed on before her, leaving her promises fulfilled, with no one left to protect but herself. Now, birthdays no longer serve as reminders of those she looks after, but rather as a reminder of how much time has passed since she has gone without them in her life.

While there are no longer any cake or presents, Yang does take a moment to light herself a candle. She summons up a flame – which is about all her semblance can do anymore, the power fading with age. Candle lit, Yang withdraws three cards from the back of a drawer, where they stay hidden for every day but one, each year.

Each card is from a different birthday, from different people. The first is from Beacon, a recording of her friends singing a horrible, off-key, disorganized version of Happy Birthday. It sounds like a trainwreck, but Yang can hear each of her friends in their youth, laughing and attempting to sing. As it turns out, not even Weiss can sing the song perfectly in the company of their friends. The second card is similar, another recording – this one from Ruby, Qrow, and her father. Ruby’s drawings from when she was seven cover the card, making Yang smile, even at this age.

The last card, while not a recording, means just as much as the other two. It is the card that came with Yang’s gift on her fifth birthday, written on only by Summer. The last message Yang ever received from her mother.

And it is in this way, in the dark of the evening, with only the light from a small candle and the songs of people who have long left her behind, that Yang celebrates her birthday.

 


	2. Autumn

_Today is Blake’s birthday. She is sixty-nine_. Her house is full of friends, still loud and boisterous despite their ages. They’ve all crowded into the kitchen, trying to avoid shoving limbs into each other or the counter top. Despite all of them having retired from hunting careers, they still carry weapons out of habit – and Blake knows from experience that tight quarters and sharp elbows do not make good combinations. Before anyone can destroy Blake’s kitchen, however, they find a way to make it fit.

Someone (Ruby) pulls a chair up to the table in the center of the room, and prods Blake until she takes a seat. There is a clamoring, whispers to turn off the light, and then the room is dimmed significantly. Neptune nearly collapses over Sun in his efforts to draw the curtains in front of the window, and the room falls into near darkness. Blake blinks, her eyes adjusting to the light quickly, as her Faunus senses haven’t diminished by much over time. She sees Yang and Weiss hunched over the countertop, Ruby flitting around them, trying to peer over their shoulders. For all of their age, not one of them has changed very much.

There is a sudden glow and familiar warmth fills the room as Yang’s semblance kicks in. While weaker than it had once been, the brawler can still produce flame – and Blake realizes exactly what’s coming next. As if reading her thoughts, Weiss turns and marches towards the table, holding onto a platter that contains some kind of disastrous combination of candles and cake.

As Weiss drops it in front of her, Blake realizes that there are probably exactly sixty-nine candles perched into the baked good – there isn’t an inch of the cake that remains not punctured by striped wax. Pyrrha winces at the sight of it, understandably. Weiss beckons to Yang, who steps forwards with a grin splitting her face and her eyes alight and reddened. She takes a deep breath and (Blake leaning back instinctively) spits a burst of flame, which shoots across the table and hovers just above the cake. A moment later, it goes out – and every candle has successfully been lit, albeit a little bit melted.

The brawler’s smile grows even larger as the red fades from her pupils, and the guests hovering around the table ooh appreciatively and clap over the performance.

“Well, Blake,” crows Ruby, “make a wish!”

“I’d make it fast, though,” Yang states quietly, pointing to the rapidly melting candles.

Blake rolls her eyes, then closes them to make her wish. A moment later, she opens them and begins to blow out the candles. It takes more than a couple of breaths, and plenty of smoke lingers in the air when she is finished.

“Well done,” shouts Sun, clapping her on the back (which does nothing to help her wheezing), “I didn’t think you’d get through them all!”

“Who’s idea was it to put that many candles on, anyways?” asks Velvet, always the voice of reason.

“Mine!” cries Ruby, at the same time Weiss rolls her eyes and points at her partner.

“What’d you wish for, Blake?” asks Yang, curiosity radiating out of her voice like stink off a skunk.

“I think that kind of nullifies the wish,” answers Blake, staring flatly at the brawler.

“In any case,” Pyrrha interjects, before Yang can predictably launch into a counter argument, “happy birthday, Blake.”

The Faunus turns to look at the woman, who stands besides Ren, smiling warmly. Over the years Pyrrha’s smile has remained true, despite the lines that have slowly begun to deepen around it. Ren, on his part, gives a small smile and nods to Blake, who does the same in return. She knows as well of the rest of them that meeting everyone like this doesn’t have the same sense of happiness for Pyrrha and Ren – it reminds them of the times when both still had their partners. There is a definite absence in the room – Nora’s exuberant laugh no longer ringing in their ears, Jaune no longer knocking things off the countertop – but no one addresses it.

“Yes,” says Velvet, interrupting Blake’s silent reverie, “happy sixty-ninth birthday!”

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, shooting a look at Sun and Yang, before either of them can speak a word.

The blondes respond predictably: Sun’s grin grows wider; Yang pouts emphatically. As if consoling her sister over her spoiled joke, Ruby leans over Yang, plucks candles from the cake, and tries poking them into her mouth. That act of generosity – or so Ruby calls it as she tries to free herself from her sister’s headlock – deteriorates quickly, and within moments, candles are everywhere.

Blake watches the chaos silently from her perch at the end of the table, amusement clear on her face. Ruby and Yang, trying to shove candles into each others’ mouths while fending off their own; Weiss, attempting to intervene to save the already destroyed cake; Pyrrha and Ren, smiling and laughing at the display; Velvet, rolling her eyes; and Neptune, trying to keep Sun from diving across the table to join in. As cake splatters from candles, friends shouting and laughing the whole time, Blake takes a moment to think about her wish.

It has been a long time since Blake felt lost – once she had left the White Fang and gone to Beacon, she’d slowly begun to feel at home in the world. With her team and friends, it had become even more so. Now, watching the people who lit up her world, Blake knows exactly what she wishes for – that all of them will keep laughing for as long as life will permit. She knows as well as anyone, if not better, that life doesn’t last forever, and all things come to an end. But, as she watches her friends who have grown up only in age, she also knows it’s best to enjoy things while they’re still around.

* * *

 It wasn’t hard for Yang to find out where Summer lived. The description ‘little brawler girl’ was enough to set off vague directions, and ‘fire semblance’ had people immediately giving the address. One couple had even slammed their door in Yang’s face after she asked about the young girl, which prompted the elderly woman to wonder just how infamous Summer had become around her neighbourhood. In fact, Yang found herself slightly in awe with the reactions that simply her name could invoke.

Terrorized neighbours aside, Yang now found herself standing in front of the home that presumably belonged to Summer. It was simple, as many young family homes are – red brick, white window shutters, front porch. Yang tromped up the latter slowly, her joints creaking in time with the old wooden steps. She took a moment to gather herself, and then knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.

Yang could hear movement inside – a faint ‘coming!’ resounded from within – and for a moment, she doubted whether this was a good idea. But before she had the chance to flee – not that she would be able to with her speed – the sound of opened locks came from the other side of the door before it swung open. Any doubts Yang had had over whether or not it was Summer’s home flew away in the moment she saw the woman standing in the doorway.

She looked a great deal like Summer – the same eyes, pointed chin, spattering of freckles across her cheekbones. Even the way in which she held herself reminded Yang a great deal of the younger girl: her shoulders rounded but head held high, both defiant and passive at the same time. But there were differences between Summer and the woman as well, in their noses and ears and the ways they looked at Yang. Summer had stared at her with curiosity; the woman at the door looked at her with apprehension.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow to the elderly woman.

Yang shook herself from her reverie, but before she could answer, another voice echoed from inside the house.

“Hun? Who’s at the door?”

The other half of Summer (as Yang would describe him) appeared in the hallway inside, coming up to stand beside the woman in the doorway. He too looked a great deal like the troublesome kid, and Yang saw in him the features Summer hadn’t shared with the woman: the same rounded nose, ears that slightly stuck out, and eyes filled with curiosity.

Realizing that both were staring at her, waiting for an answer, Yang cleared her throat and began to speak.

“My name is Yang Xiao Long,” she said, still thinking of the words to say even as they came out of her mouth, “and I’m looking for a girl named Summer. The neighbours all pointed to this house–”

“We’ll pay for it, whatever it is,” the woman interrupted. Yang paused, taken aback by the unexpected comment.

“Oh – no!” she said, chuckling in realization, “She didn’t break anything of mine. I’m actually here for different reasons. You see, I am an ex-huntress–”

She was interrupted again, but this time in an entirely different manner. The apologetic looks had disappeared, replaced by ones of worry – and in the woman’s case, one of anger.

“What do you want with our daughter?” the woman asked angrily, all traces of passiveness gone, “Don’t you dare think you can just come here and talk to our daughter about joining your – your suicide parade!”

Yang, who had been reeling from the complete personality reversal, was hit by the last phrase as if it were a train. All at once, she realized where the woman’s anger was coming from, why their expressions had changed the moment she had said ‘huntress.’

“You might think of yourselves as heroes,” the woman continued, not having noticed Yang’s own change in demeanor, “but that’s no reason to be trying to convince _children_ to become people like yourselves–”

“ _No._ ”

Yang’s words cut off the woman’s tirade instantly, her voice cold and sharp.

“That would never be my intention,” she continued, before the couple could begin commenting again. “I didn’t come here to tell Summer about being a huntress, or to ask her to join my… suicide parade.”

The woman winced, as though suddenly realizing the harshness of her own words.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a hero,” Yang continued, “and I don’t know anyone else who lived through the career and didn’t do the same. The only heroes are those who didn’t make it to the ends of their careers, who lost their lives fighting for the same people who called them foolish and death-seeking.”

Yang’s tone had changed, seeming to both lack emotion, and yet also contain so much at once it could barely hold it all in.

“I’ve seen many friends fall in the line of duty, and seen the way that their deaths affect those around them. I know what this line of work is, what it leaves you with – and what it leaves you _without._ ”

There was a pause, and for a moment, all she could remember were the faces, the voices of those who were gone, those who were left behind.

“I know what being a huntress does to you. I would never try and convince anyone to become one, much less try and ask your daughter to do so.”

She looked up at the couple, the lines in their faces deepened by sadness, not anger. There was silence for a moment, Yang’s words having struck a chord within both of them, the elderly woman herself trying to shake the memories of the past.

“… I’m sorry,” the woman murmured after a moment, turning away.

“It’s alright,” replied Yang, surprised that she actually meant it, “I shouldn’t have started off with saying what I used to be.”

“Then what… did you come here for?” the man said, speaking for the first time since his wife’s tirade. At this, Yang smiled, happy to move past the previous tension.

“I noticed the other day that your daughter has a fire semblance,” she said, noting the way both of them looked up at this, “and I think I would be able to help with that.”

Yang held out her palm, and closed her eyes, willing the spark inside her to grow. After a moment, a small flame flickered in her hand, and then went out. The brief display had been enough – the man and woman were staring at her, hope and confusion in their eyes.

“You want to teach our daughter?” the woman asked. Yang smiled warmly, a glimpse of her previous self showing through.

“I had a hard time growing up with a fire semblance, too,” she clarified, “I unlocked my powers around the same age as Summer is now. I know how hard it can be to grow up trying to learn to control that power – and how hard it is for the parents, too.”

She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and dug around in it for a moment before withdrawing a slip of paper. She handed it to the couple, who turned it over to reveal a faded photograph – Yang as a child, summoning flames to show Ruby, who sat beside her in the photo.

Yang smiled at the memory – Ruby had been cold, and begged her sister to make fire for them to warm up. Their laughter echoed in Yang’s head for a moment.

“If you’d like, I can teach Summer how to control her semblance,” she said, causing the couple to look up once more. “I haven’t had strong powers for many years now, but I can still summon up flames, and learning to control them is not something you can forget easily. I’d be honoured to teach your daughter, if you’d like.”

Yang bowed slightly at the end, a shadow of her former teachings showing through. The couple glanced at each other for a moment, then spoke together at once:

“Yes!”

“Absolutely!”

Taken aback by their sudden agreement, Yang looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I don’t want to say it’s been a hassle, but…. It’s been a HUGE hassle,” clarified the man, rubbing the back of his head.

“She unlocked her semblance a month ago,” explained the woman, “and since then, we haven’t found a way for her to keep it under control. We try and be as supportive as we can, but we’re starting to reach the end of our rope.”

She looked at Yang, her eyes pleading for help.

“We would be the ones honoured to have you teach our daughter,” she said, “We’ll even pay you, if you–”

“No,” Yang interrupted, shaking her head, “I’m not doing this for any gain. It’s just… I remember how hard that was for me, not having a proper teacher for a long time. If I’m able to keep someone else from going through the same thing, then I’ll happily do it for free.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied, honesty pouring from her words. She paused, looked away awkwardly, and then down.

“I’m very sorry about what I said before,” she said, “I shouldn’t have reacted in that way.”

“Really, it’s alright,” Yang replied, “believe it or not, that’s not actually the worst reaction I’ve ever gotten to my title before.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup! One time the owner of a nightclub tried to throw me out the window of his three story club when he found out about it.”

She grinned mischievously, her younger self returning in her smile.

“Didn’t end very well for him!”

The man laughed and the woman smiled at her story, before the latter held out her hand.

“Scarla,” she said. Yang took her hand and shook it, before turning to do the same to the man.

“Rowan,” he supplied.

“Yang,” she repeated, “So, when would you like to start training?”

“Whenever works best for you,” Scarla said, her husband nodding.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Sure.”

Rowan turned, and called out into the house.

“Summer, come here! There’s someone we want you to meet!”

A small ‘okay!’ came from within the home, and Yang could hear the girl stumbling down steps to meet her. Summer came into view, and stopped dead in the hallway once she realized who she was supposed to meet. She raised a finger, pointed straight to Yang, and cried out.

“Granny!”

Yang ground her teeth, the girl’s laughter not helping matters any.

“Summer, that’s rude!” Scarla chastised, lightly tapping her daughter on the head as the girl came up to the doorway.

“No, it’s alright,” Yang said, “I’m sure _kiddo_ here will have a great time with me during training.”

Summer frowned at the name, a comeback already in mind, when the rest of Yang’s words sunk in.

“Wait a minute – training?” she asked, irritation replaced by confusion.

“Yup!” Yang said, laughing loudly, “I’m going to be training you how to use your semblance correctly.”

Summer’s mouth dropped slightly, and for a moment, Yang felt a surge of pride over the girl’s apparent awe. Which, of course, turned out to be for the completely wrong reason.

“You mean… you can actually do something other than break your hip?”

Yang glared at the kid as her parents both yelped her name.

“You bet I can, kiddo. I used to be pretty darn powerful, you know?”

Summer eyed her, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Show me,” she said, true to a five-year-old’s personality.

And, true to her five-year-old mentality, Yang couldn’t back down from the request.

Yang rolled her eyes, knelt to the young girl’s level, summoned up the warmth again – and snapped her fingers in front of Summer’s face, sparks jumping through the air. The young girl jumped back in surprise, before her expression turned to anger and her eyes began to grow red. Her parents immediately reacted, hands reaching out to calm the girl. Yang, however, did the opposite.

She reached out her hand again and flicked Summer’s nose lightly, causing the girl to blink and back away again.

“Whoa, squirt,” Yang said, “Those sparks didn’t hurt you at all, so calm down.”

Summer, whose previously clenched fists were now holding her nose, glared at Yang with eyes that had faded back to their original colour.

Yang smiled at the sight, Scarla and Rowan both blinking at her in awe. Yang stood up slowly, grimacing at the cracks in her back. Yang shot a glance at Summer before she could make an age related comment – and judging by the wicked grin on the girl’s face, she already had several in mind.

“Well, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” said Yang, ready to take her leave, “be ready to make some sparks, kiddo!”

She nodded to Scarla and Rowan, before she turned, placed her hands in her pockets, and made her way down the steps back to the sidewalk. She paused at her name being called, and turned back to the house. Scarla stood in the doorway still, Rowan and Summer already having retreated into the house.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, a small smile on her face.

Yang smiled back, and withdrew a hand to wave in acknowledgement. Then she turned away once more, and began to make her way back home.

* * *

Summer’s training began on a warm afternoon, in the same playground where they had spoken for the first time. Summer was clearly elated to begin, as kids often are when they start out on something new; she was rocking back and forth on her heels, practically quivering with contained excitement. Yang was almost a complete counterpart, quiet and lost in thought, trying to figure out where to begin.

However, it soon became very clear to the both of them that there was, in fact, only one place to start – the very beginning. While Summer had figured out the very basis of her semblance (energy became fire, emotions became heat), it was obvious to Yang that she hadn’t the slightest clue as to how to control it.

It was a familiar situation for the former brawler, like a window looking straight into her past. Summer’s semblance was the same as hers, activated by emotion and triggered far too easily as a result. It had taken Yang years as a kid to stop igniting her semblance over the little things, and even longer to be able to keep from losing control in stressful situations. Her team had helped with the last bit – Ruby knew her well enough to tell when she was reaching a snapping point, Weiss would pick up on the rising heat and tell her (bluntly) to calm down, and Blake learned from her actions when the pressure was gaining, able to read her partner like a book from the very start. Summer, on the other hand, had no team to help her – just a very elderly woman who could hardly use her semblance anymore.

Yang quickly realized that Summer’s problem wasn’t in the fact she simply could trigger her semblance, but that she could engage it over anything. Some emotions caused the control to break more easily – anger, worry, fear, and even happiness were often the worst of them. But in Summer’s case, triggering emotions expanded far beyond the usual – envy, annoyance, nervousness, and a whole slew of other feelings gave way to temperature changes akin to the rises and falls of a roller coaster. It also didn’t help matters any that being a small child with a Weiss-rivaling temper, Summer changed between moods faster than a teenager at the height of puberty.

But even though Yang had found the source of the problem, that didn’t mean she could solve it. It had been a very, very long time since Yang had lost control easily – childhood was practically a lifetime away, and her quick reactions had faded with age, her temper mellowing out as she grew older. There was also the fact that despite having been very powerful in her youth, Yang’s power had faded from an inferno to a simple spark – and with it, her memories of controlling her semblance. Back in her huntress days, her power had been a force to be reckoned with, and with that power had come a need for great control – but both had faded, leaving Yang with only memories of outbursts, with no way to connect to Summer’s current ones.

And so, weeks passed. Summer slowly faded into Autumn, leaves changing colour and lighting the world around them on fire as well. The heat of the days fell, but for Yang and Summer, the heat of training stayed the same. There had been some progression – small emotions no longer brought on the same reactions, usually just quick pulses and flares of heat – but for the most part, the triggers were still as sensitive as before. And with the lack of improvement came an entirely different issue – frustration.

Both of them had it – for Yang, it stemmed from her inability to help her student, unable to find a bridge to connect over; for Summer, it came from the fact that no matter what she did, she just couldn’t keep control. Their frustrations hindered both of them, slowly losing patience with themselves and each other. Tempers rose as the temperature fell around them, fallen leaves colouring the days and their frustration. And, on a warm Autumn afternoon, the pressure finally became too much.

“Alright,” said Yang, shifting in her spot on the park bench, “let’s try happiness this time.”

Summer nodded from her position nearby the swings, slightly away from where the brawler sat. The young girl closed her eyes, letting the images run through her head. It was a simple exercise – think of memories, of possibilities that brought on different reactions, and try to control the emotions that came about. Once in a while, Yang would toss pieces of bark at the girl, catching her off guard and giving her an extra challenge in trying to keep down her temper.

The wind rustled through the trees, filling the silence that grew as Summer concentrated. After a moment, Yang felt the all-too-familiar presence of heat slowly increasing. She waited until the heat became almost stifling, then addressed the girl, who still had her eyes clenched shut.

“Summer–”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence.

“I know.”

Summer didn’t open her eyes, but her brow furrowed with her answer, her hands slowly forming into fists. Yang paused, unaccustomed to the younger girl interrupting her.

She waited, giving the girl a bit more time to try and control the heat. It still rose, now even faster than before. It was a common occurrence – frustration would kick in, which would make controlling the heat even harder, and in turn would only bring on more frustration. It was a vicious cycle, and one that neither Summer nor Yang knew how to break.

When a bead of sweat rolled down Yang’s brow, she knew it was time to step in.

“Summer,” she started again, only to be cut off once more by the girl, who had clearly been expecting the reprimand.

“I know!,” Summer cried, her voice catching on the last word, frustration and anger coloring her tone, “I’m trying, okay?”

At her last words, the girl’s temper flared in a pulse of heat – Yang felt the edge of it from her position on the park bench, as if she were sitting too close to a fireplace. The leaves around Summer’s feet felt it much more, as they shriveled up from the sudden leap in temperature. Yang didn’t draw away from the heat, by now used to the outbursts. She instead stared at Summer, who was clenching and unclenching her hands, trying to pull back her control.

“Breathe,” Yang said, keeping eye contact with the girl.

Summer obeyed the command, a regular reprimand by this point. Eventually, the heat dissipated, the air around them turning back to the warm autumn air. The silence returned between them, faint sounds of the rustling leaves giving them time to sort their thoughts. After a moment, Yang sighed, shaking her head. She looked up at Summer, giving a soft smile to the girl.

“Why don’t we stop training here for the day,” she said, chuckling at the look of happiness on Summer’s face, “I don’t think we’re going to get much farther than this.”

Yang glanced at the sky, where grey clouds were slowly starting to creep over the edges of the town.

“Besides,” she continued, “I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Can you feel that in your bones?” Summer answered, “you know, your elderly bones–”

“Very funny,” interrupted Yang, cutting off yet another one of the girl’s age related jokes, “no, you comedian, I looked at the clouds.”

She pointed above them, punctuating her point. Summer laughed, returning to her usual carefree state.

“Alright, Grandma,” Summer said, still laughing over her own joke, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Your house, right?”

Yang nodded in reply; on the days that her parents had work, Summer would be dropped off at Yang’s house before the training began, as opposed to the days they met at the playground.

“See you then, Yang. Don’t break your hip!”

Summer left at that, the comment her usual way of saying goodbye. Yang shook her head, well used to the comment, before she leaned back against the park bench, passing a hand over her eyes.

“Stupid kid,” she muttered, though her words held no bite.

Yang watched the sky, clouds passing slowly, not weighed down by any concepts of time. Lost in thought, the woman hardly noticed the specks of rain slowly starting to fall, instead thinking about the training with Summer. The truth was, the young girl wasn’t nearly as worried as Yang was. Summer got frustrated easily in the moment, but lost it quickly, ready to move on and try again. Yang, on the other hand, had frustration building up slowly – not a worry that Summer would never gain control (she knew that wasn’t true), but rather a worry that she wouldn’t be able to connect with the girl, and wouldn’t be able to help. A worry that their training would be over before it even really began.

Taking note of the light raindrops, Yang stretched and slowly got off the bench, grimacing at the small pops from her joints. It was probably a good thing Summer wasn’t there, she mused, as the girl wouldn’t have missed the opportunity for a joke even if her life depended on it. Her smile over the girl’s sense of humour was lost as Yang once more remembered their current situation.

“Dammit,” she said aloud, voicing her frustrations to no one in particular, “Pyrrha, what would you do?”

* * *

 

 _Today is Blake’s birthday. She is seventy-four_. The day is winding down, the sun slowly falling below the tops of the buildings. Most of the people she knows have already come and gone, visiting during the earlier hours of the day. Pyrrha and Ren had come first, offering a gift and giving their best wishes. Neptune later that day, staying for lunch. And Weiss and Ruby, still bickering even in their old age, had been the last to arrive, along with the final person, who was still there.

As if sensing she was being thought of, Yang pushes open the door to Blake’s room, holding a tray with two steaming bowls on it. The smell of soup wafts through the air. Knowing Yang, she’d probably made the soup by heating it up herself instead of the stove, in an effort to ‘save money.’ Blake had given up lecturing the brawler about her blackened pots years ago.

Yang sets the tray on the nearby desk, moving one of the bowls to its surface. She holds out the tray with the remaining bowl to Blake, who takes it gratefully from her position in her bed. The fading sunlight streams in through the window, falling on the two of them as they eat the soup in silence.

The pair had grown used to silences falling between them, the need for words growing less and less over the years. Blake had found that when you spend a good portion of your life fighting alongside someone, you don’t need to fill the silences as much. Now, after many years together, more things were left unsaid than spoken; yet still understood just the same.

The brawler finishes her soup, sighing happily and reclining in her chair by the desk.

“Man, that was some damn good soup,” she says, patting her stomach happily.

“Careful, now,” Blake states flatly, “you wouldn’t want to get a big head or anything.”

Yang laughs at the teasing, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, standing up, “you done?”

Blake glances at her bowl, the soup not even half-eaten. She sighs and nods, pushing the tray slightly away. She doesn’t miss the way Yang’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, her partner’s hidden concern showing through for a second, before her expression returns to her usual playful one.

“Well, you can always reheat it as a leftover,” she says, placing the tray down next to her own empty bowl, “although, you’ve got lots of those already! Man, Blake, you’re going to have lots of food to eat when you get well again.”

The brawler turns to leave the room, tray in hand, when Blake’s even voice stops her.

“Yang.”

The woman in question freezes in her spot, and Blake knows that she knows what is coming. But Yang tries her best to pretend it isn’t going to happen anyways, turning back to her partner with a shaky grin.

“Yes, partner?”

“Sit back down,” Blake says softly, her amber eyes falling on Yang.

The woman complies, dropping the tray back onto the desk before pulling her chair closer to Blake’s bedside, sitting down in it.

“Yeah?” Yang asks, her tone still trying to pretend she doesn’t know what Blake is going to say. The Faunus doesn’t comment on it, and instead turns to retrieve something from beside her bed.

Blake sits back up, and holds out a small package to Yang. It is wrapped in black paper, a yellow bow taped to the top. Yang swallows, and looks at her partner in forced confusion.

“Blake,” she says slowly, “you know that you’re supposed to _get_ the gifts on your birthday, right?”

Blake rolls her eyes, and shakes the box slightly.

“Just take it, Yang.”

Her partner does, accepting it as if it were a bomb. Blake notices the way her hands shake slightly, but chooses not to mention it. Instead, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them to stare at her partner.

“Yang,” she says softly, causing the woman to look at her.

There is a moment of silence, Blake studying the lilac eyes she’s come to know so well over the years. In their time together, she’s seen a huge range of emotion in them – happiness, anger, and occasionally, even sadness – because even if Yang doesn’t show her emotions all the time, her eyes always gave them away. And now, they speak volumes – begging Blake not to say it, not to point out what they both know is going to happen. What one refuses to acknowledge, while the other has come to terms with it months ago. What they’ve both known the moment the doctor’s results came back.

But as much as Blake knows Yang doesn’t want her to say it, she knows that she has to.

“Open it when I am gone.”

The silence returns, far heavier than before. The air hangs with unspoken words, of pleading and promises gone by, of things they’d never said but always known. The glow of the setting sun fades away as they sit in silence, Blake studying her partner’s face, emotion clashing in the pools of violet. Yet neither says a word, instead continuing to sit in the silence, letting the lack of words say everything they wanted to.

Eventually, Yang turns her chair around, letting Blake see only her back. For a moment, the Faunus thinks she is crying – until she feels a familiar warmth, and a glow appears behind Yang’s shoulders.

“Yang, what are you–”

“I have something for you, too,” the brawler says, cutting off Blake’s question.

Then Yang spins her chair around again, revealing her gift, the grin on her face illuminated by the candle stuck in the object in her hands.

Blake stares at it for a moment, then back up to Yang’s face.

“Yang Xiao Long,” she says flatly, “where in Remnant did you find a tuna cupcake?”

Yang laughs as Blake takes the baked good from her, the previous moment forgotten. As they talk and laugh, conversations about strange baked goods and withheld locations echoing in the small bedroom, the last rays of the sun disappear behind the tops of the buildings, leaving only the glow of the fading orange sky and the light from a single candle to light up the room.

The light reflects off the surfaces in the room, in the depths of their eyes and across their faces. It falls on the bow of a package on the desk, sitting beside two soup bowls, one empty, one nearly full. The laughter and the light will eventually fade away, but the package will remain, hidden away until Yang has a reason to bring it out again. 

* * *

 

Pyrrha Nikos had been a goddess. Well, perhaps not in the literal sense, but she’d still managed to become one metaphorically – stories of her as a huntress, a teacher, and even as a friend had practically become legends at this point. The redhead had helped many people throughout her career, and Yang was convinced that somewhere out in the world of Remnant, there was a village who worshipped her as queen. Of course Pyrrha, humble as she was, always shook her head in denial.

Her and Yang had become very good friends over the years, especially towards the ends of their lives, bonding in place of friends and partners who were no longer there. Unsurprisingly, Pyrrha had been the last of her friends to pass away  - the woman made it to ninety, an age that was rare for anyone, least of all a famed huntress. As the last remaining members of their respective teams, the pair had talked a lot about the past, reminiscing on what used to be, particularly their huntressing years.

Pyrrha, unlike Yang, had lost her Beacon partner early on in her career. For a long time, she went on solo missions, or paired up with Ren and Nora. Eventually, she and Ren formed a pair, fighting on for each other in the place of the people they’d lost. However, that hadn’t last long, nor had they done many jobs together – as close as they were, there were just some shoes you couldn’t try to fill. Ren wasn’t Jaune, Pyrrha wasn’t Nora.

After retiring officially as a huntress, Pyrrha turned completely to teaching. She’d done it throughout her fighting career, but to a limited extent, often helping teach younger kids how to fight in tournaments and such. She’d become well liked as a teacher, and successful – which surprised no one, because Pyrrha was good at almost everything. Well, aside from cooking. In fact, her proficiency at teaching had spread into her huntress career, causing her to often sound much like a teacher when discussing battle plans or explaining situations (“What would Pyrrha do?” had eventually become a running joke amongst the Beacon teams. Nora had even made them all shirts that said it for her fiftieth birthday).

A teacher to the end of her days, Yang and Pyrrha had often talked a lot about her students. It amazed Yang that Pyrrha could stick with it for so long – she’d tried her own hand at teaching once before, and… it hadn’t gone well, to say the least. Yang’s own teammates had also gone into teaching after being huntresses – Ruby ran the weaponry program at Signal, Blake returned to Beacon to teach history and Faunus rights, and even Weiss helped teach dust training every so often. But Yang had never been the teacher type, instead falling back to her mechanics. Despite her clash with the profession, however, she’d always loved to hear Pyrrha’s tales from the classroom.

One conversation had always stood out in particular. Pyrrha, one afternoon, had been recounting her experience with a particularly tough student – not only was he a a troublemaker, his semblance was also a strong once, causing him to even be a bit of a bully. It was this student – dubbed ‘mini-Cardin’ – that made Yang ask Pyrrha how she dealt with students like that, the ones who no one seemed able to teach. Pyrrha had smiled kindly, as if she had often been asked the question.

“Every student has a positive side to them,” she’d said, “and often those with strong positive aspects have even more obvious negative ones. The key is finding a balance – you have to look beyond their problems, what they struggle with, and find out what they do well. Once you find that, the rest is easy – as you help them improve what they’re good at, they eventually start to balance out the bad. There is no such thing as a bad student – just a very well hidden talent.”

Her words had always stuck with Yang, despite the brawler never having been the teaching type. Yet now, finding herself with her own difficult student, Pyrrha’s words still rang true. The memory echoed in Yang’s head as she made her way home down the empty street, the softly falling rain having prompted people to retreat indoors.

“Hidden talents, huh?” Yang muttered to herself, trying to think of something that Summer had proven to be good at.

When nothing immediate came to mind, Yang sighed and shook her head. For once, she had no idea what Pyrrha would do – and no idea what she herself would do, either.

* * *

 

Summer arrived early to training the next day. She let herself in – Yang usually left the door unlocked in the mornings, knowing the young girl would arrive. While to some it might seem a security risk, the neighbours in the area knew who Yang was – a retired huntress, who’d fought grimm the size of houses and had come away laughing. And for anyone who thought her age might hinder the woman and decide to try and rob her anyways – well, they’d be faced with several weapons meant for destroying much more than petty burglars. It was safe to say that unlocked doors weren’t much of a concern for Yang.

“Yang?” called Summer, pulling off her shoes.

She waited for the usual reply – often a location, like ‘kitchen,’ or something – but nothing came. Summer frowned; it was unusual for Yang to not respond. Part of her wondered if the woman had fallen asleep – she was an old lady, after all – but that concern was quickly overwhelmed by another one: the need to explore.

Summer had seen Yang’s house before – it was small, and there wasn’t a lot to it other than old photographs on walls and well-worn books piled on shelves. To this day, Summer still couldn’t figure out why a title like ‘ninjas of love’ was filed with the history books. But while there wasn’t a lot to explore, there was still an entire floor to see – Yang hadn’t let Summer go upstairs before. And now, with the retired huntress nowhere in sight, Summer had the opportunity.

Stepping up the carpeted stairs, her feet making no sound, Summer briefly wondered if she was making the wrong choice. Yang had, after all, told her never to go upstairs. That thought, however, was quickly pushed out her head by her growing curiosity as she got her first look down the upstairs hallway – four doors, leading to unknown rooms.

The first room was a bathroom, the third a guest room. Both were clean  - the latter looked as if it hadn’t been used in months, possibly years – and Summer quickly lost interest in them. The second room turned out to be Yang’s room which, to Summer’s surprise, wasn’t filled with old lady things. There was a lot piled in it, in fact – clothes spilling from drawers, animal shaped pillows, a collection of miscellaneous objects on the dresser. After several minutes of inspection, Summer moved on to the final door, which stood at the end of the hallway. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, as if it hadn’t been used often.

Dark. That was the first thing Summer registered – there was no light on, and heavy curtains covered the windows, allowing only small bars of light to slip through them. These rays landed on varying surfaces throughout the room – mostly glass and metal, gleaming in spite of the dark interior. There was a funny smell in the air, almost as if someone had let a firework off in the room. As Summer’s eyes adjusted, she began to take in more of the objects that lay in the room.

There were framed pictures hanging on the walls; photos filled with people Summer had never met, newspaper clippings and certificates hanging in between. Some of the metal appeared to be coloured, though slightly hard to see in the dark – patches of yellow, red – while others lacked hue, black and gray. Other things caught light, such as a pair of goggles and what appeared to be a hairpin, but the most predominant objects in the room didn’t – clothes and fabrics, hanging on mannequins or pinned to the walls. There were sweaters and jackets, sashes and gloves, and even a large red cloak in the corner.

Summer moved towards the latter, stepping into the room. Before she could reach it, however, she heard her name called from the hallway.

“Summer…?”

Yang’s voice trailed off, and Summer turned around just in time to see her mentor walk into view.

Yang stopped dead in the doorway. She didn’t say anything, her face instead taking on an expression Summer couldn’t place – remorse? nostalgia?  – as she took in the open room. Her eyes fell on the metal, the fabric, before they finally fell upon Summer. Neither said a word, and for a moment, time seemed frozen.

“What are you….”

Yang’s voice trailed off again, a question never asked. Then, her expression changed again – from the unpinnable one to an emotion Summer knew all too well: anger.

“What are you doing in here?!”

The words came as a yell, causing Summer to jump in fear. Yang’s voice was filled with anger and cracking with sorrow, scaring the young girl. She took a step back, before Yang spoke again.

“Get out!”

Summer complied, rushing out in fear, practically pushing Yang aside in her quest to obey and get back into the hallway. She stood, shaking slightly, as Yang continued to stare into the room. Then the brawler turned to face the young girl – and Summer froze.

Yang’s eyes were red, a pure crimson that had overtaken the usual soft violet. She stared at Summer with a piercing gaze, as if her eyes had been replaced by burning embers. Summer shook, as Yang took a step forwards, the young girl taking one back in turn.

“You…. I told you…”

Yang’s words were trailing off again, but this time it seemed like she couldn’t form a complete sentence, as if the emotions were keeping her words back. Then, suddenly, her hands shot out and grasped Summer’s shoulders before she could jump away.

“I told you to never go in there!” she roared, causing the young girl to jump in fear, “But you didn’t… you didn’t listen…”

“Let go of me!” Summer cried, pushing her hands away and stepping backwards.

Yang didn’t react, her anger having faded slightly, replaced by sadness.

“I told you…. you didn’t…”

Yang’s words were gone again, the woman lost in thought and memories as she sank to her knees, eyes still glowing crimson.

Summer stared at Yang for a moment, still shaking with fear. Then she slowly took a step back, turned, and raced down the hallway, down the stairs. Yang didn’t give chase.

A moment later, the sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the house. If Yang heard it, she didn’t give any indication – the woman still knelt in the hallway, seemingly lost in memories, action giving way to sorrow.

* * *

 

Yang had known something was off the moment she saw Summer’s shoes abandoned at the front door, the young girl nowhere to be seen. Yang had been in the backyard when the girl had knocked, unable to hear her call from her position outside. Kicking off her own shoes, Yang walked towards the front door. She was about to call Summer’s name when she heard a creak from upstairs – the sound of a door being opened.

Yang froze; Summer knew she wasn’t allowed up there, but in retrospect, Yang had never known a child who put logic over curiosity. She started up the stairs, calling the girl’s name.

“Summer…?”

Her voice trailed off as she saw the open door at the end of the hallway, name petering out as Yang took in the fact that Summer had found the one, single room she never wanted her to.

Yang rushed to the end of the hall, ready to haul the girl out and reprimand her – but the moment she got the the door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Memories hit the woman like a train. The familiar scent of gunpowder emanated from the room, the weapons imbued with the smoke from years of use. The smell was mixed in with others – the faint smell of roses, a familiar perfume – and practically threw Yang back into the years, when the owners of the familiar scents had been present in her life.

Her eyes fell throughout the room – passing across the weapons that had long been put away, Ember Celica and Crescent Rose still somehow shining in the dim room, Myrenstar and Gambol Shroud also dully reflecting light. She took in the photographs of her friends and family, of achievements and memories she’d long stored away. The framed articles about them, the awards, the graduation certificates. Yang’s eyes swept across the battle gear from both her team and those she’d fought with – the accessories and clothing that had stayed with them through Beacon and beyond.

Eventually her eyes fell on Summer, who stood in the middle of the room, looking worriedly at Yang.

“What are you…”

Yang tried to speak, still trying to pull herself from the memories that had hit her all at once. Her words trailed off, but Yang felt her emotions rise – sorrow slowly being overcome by anger, the two mixing it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that an outburst wouldn’t help matters any – but she couldn’t find it within her to care, much less even try to stop it.

“What are you doing in here?!”

Her words came out loud, startling the young girl in front of her.

“Get out!”

Summer raced out of the room, stopping the hallway before her. She looked up at Yang – then froze, her eyes going wide as she took in her face. Yang knew her eyes were red – the heat may be gone, but the emotions were still there.

“You... I told you…”

Images flashed through Yang’s head – her teammates fighting, her friends laughing, her life playing by – and it took her a moment to push them back long enough to find the words.

“I told you to never go in there!” she roared, her hands latching onto Summer’s shoulders, anger surging briefly, “But you didn’t… you didn’t listen…”

“Let go of me!” Summer cried, pulling herself free from Yang’s grip.

Yang didn’t fight her, knowing that it hadn’t been the right move. She slowly sank to her knees, words trailing off into useless phrases.

“I told you… you didn’t…”

Words gone, she let the memories overtake her, lost in the past when her friends were still surrounding her. Summer took off, disappearing down the hall, but Yang didn’t chase her. She dimly registered the sound of the door slamming – she knew she should go after the girl, but she couldn’t find it within her to get up, much less move. The memories were still too strong, the door still open, her world still empty.

Time passed. It was probably about ten minutes – but for Yang, it felt like an hour, a lifetime even. Memories rushed by, things she’d tried her hardest to forget, to repress. After minutes passed by, they started to fade, the nostalgia letting up in the same way a speeding driver lets up on the gas pedal. Yang leaned back on her heels, blinking away the last vestiges of her past, of what her life once was.

Yang got to her feet, turning to face the room that had triggered it all. It hurt to even look in it – so much memorabilia from her life as a huntress that she almost fell back into memories again – but she managed to reach out, closing the door. It closed with a soft click, once again hiding away her past.

“Shit,” she muttered softly, glancing down the hallway where Summer had run.

She knew she shouldn’t have yelled at the girl – Yang had never told her why she couldn’t go upstairs, much less to never go near the room at the end of the hall. The emotions had been so raw, so unexpected that Yang couldn’t have helped her outburst – and now, she had to fix it, had to find Summer, had to tell it was alright.

Yang slowly made her way down the stairs, finding the front door half open – in Summer’s attempts to close it behind her, she’d slammed it so hard it hadn’t actually stayed in the frame. Retrieving her boots from the back door where she’d kicked them off, Yang tied up the laces, went out the door, and closed and locked it behind her.

She paused on the steps, looking up at the sky – clouds covered it, making the world seem gray. Shaking her head, Yang started making her way back to her street – she wasn’t sure where Summer had gone: it could have been home, an alleyway, anywhere really. However, in spite of the possibilities being endless, Yang had an inkling that Summer was back where it all had begun – the playground that had become their training grounds over the past weeks.

Pushing her hands into her pockets, Yang walked in the direction of the park. She had a student to find, a relationship to mend, and memories to leave behind once more.

* * *

It appeared that for all her growing age, Yang’s instincts hadn’t lessened any. As she had expected, Summer had fled to the playground – the young girl now sat on a swing in the empty park, rocking back and forth and staring at the ground as if lost in thought. Yang approached slowly, making her way along the path that led to the group of structures.

The crunching of leaves beneath her feet gave away her presence before she could say anything – Summer looked up at the sound, and for a moment, Yang saw panic flash through her eyes. The girl looked ready to bolt, but she didn’t, and Yang took that as a sign that it would be alright to talk.

She made her way over towards the swings, and sat down on the end swing, leaving an empty seat between herself and Summer. There was silence for a moment – Yang watched the clouds, Summer had returned to staring at the ground.

“Summer.”

The girl looked up at the sound of her name, finding Yang still looking at the sky. Then, the elderly woman bowed her head and closed her eyes, continuing to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said, causing Summer to react slightly. An apology had probably been the last thing the girl had been expecting.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” Yang continued, looking at Summer, “I just didn’t expect to find you there, and reacted badly. And for that, I’m sorry.”

“… I’m sorry too,” Summer said after a moment, looking at her hands gathered in her lap, “I shouldn’t have gone in there. You told me not to.”

Their apologies to one another left a small silence neither seemed to want to fill, until Summer broke it.

“What… was that room?”

Yang let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She’d been expecting the question, but even if she had the words prepared, it still hurt to say them.

“That… was my remnant room,” she said, “It’s where I keep the things from my years as a huntress.”

The huntress news didn’t seem to surprise Summer at all – Yang guessed her parents had explained to her why Yang was able to teach her – but the ‘keeping’ part appeared to.

“Why do you keep your stuff hidden away?” she asked, faltering slightly as Yang looked at her, “I mean, if I had been a huntress, I’d want everyone to see my stuff. Especially my weapons. That’s always the coolest part!”

She said the last part with such enthusiasm that Yang had to softly chuckle – she sounded just like Ruby had whenever she’d mentioned weaponry.

“It’s not all my stuff,” Yang replied, “but I guess it is pretty cool. I don’t keep it on display, because, well…”

She trailed off, not sure how to phrase it for Summer. The young girl waited expectantly.

“It hurts,” she said finally, “like how an old scar will ache from time to time. It’s just a reminder of what used to be.”

“Oh… was it bad or something?”

“What, the past? No, the past was good.”

Yang smiled, remembering the good times of her life, her friends and family.

“It just hurts because it’s no longer there,” she explained, “like, if you lost your favorite toy. You’d still have toys – but they wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t be as good as your lost one.”

Yang’s analogy seemed to work for Summer, regardless of how bad it was – the young girl nodded as if everything made sense.

“I get it,” she said, then paused, “... Yang?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m really sorry I went in there without permission.”

Yang laughed, finding that all of her anger had disappeared.

“It’s alright, Summer. Really.”

The girl giggled with her, clearly relieved that her mentor wasn’t upset with her anymore.

“But wow…” Summer began, already having changed topics, “your eyes are really scary when they’re red.”

Yang froze – she’d completely forgotten about her own outburst. Looking at Summer, she was surprised to see that the girl didn’t seem scared – but curious, as if looking at Yang in a new way. And, Yang realized, she probably was. It had never occurred to Summer that Yang too was able to lose control – and Yang had never once thought to tell her about it.

“They are, aren’t they?” Yang mused, “I’m sorry about scaring you.”

Summer shook her head.

“No, it was kind of cool! I mean, I didn’t think your eyes could turn red too, like mine.”

She paused, turning and giving Yang a mischievous grin.

“I guess you can do something other than break your hip!”

Yang frowned, leaning over to try and push Summer off her swing; she was nowhere in range, but the girl laughed and tried to move out of the way anyways.

“Why didn’t you have heat, though?” Summer asked, starting to sway back and forth from her sudden action.

“My semblance isn’t strong enough for that,” Yang replied, “I can still make small flames, but nothing huge anymore. My powers have faded over time, so while my eyes still glow red, I don’t have the fire anymore. And don’t even comment on me being too old for it.”

Summer pouted, her joke already having been anticipated.

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing, then,” she said, “otherwise you would have burned the neighbourhood down!”

Burned the neighbourhood down. Yang froze, the words of her partner echoing in her head, matching that of the girl beside her. Blake had often joked that if Yang didn’t set fire to her house while cooking, then she’d do so from getting angry over something little, like stubbing her toe. It had become a running line in their conversations – whenever Yang was cooking, Blake would amusedly warn her not to burn their neighbourhood down.

“Yeah,” Yang mumbled, staring at Summer in something like wonder, “I guess I would have.”

Then she paused, the reminder of Blake having brought back another memory. The Faunus over time had become accustomed to Yang’s semblance, and all the quirks that came with it – particularly, how prone she was to outbursts. While they were more rare in their later years as huntresses, their time at Beacon had been filled with quick reactions from Yang, leading Blake to start to learn the signs.

The pair had been surprisingly adept at reading each other, their contrasting personalities allowing them to see deeper into one another. By their fourth year together, Blake had learned to read when Yang was about to snap – and not only was able to stop it, but was also able to deal with the aftermath. There had, of course, been occasions where not even Blake could stop the blonde brawler from rampaging – but that was where her knowledge of what to do after came in handy.

A memory flowed back to Yang – a time during their fourth year, after Yang had gotten into a fight with some of the other students. She couldn’t recall what the fight had been about, but she knew she’d gone into rampage mode, eyes red and fists blazing. Blake had helped her after the fight, bringing her back to the dorms and taking care of her injuries. While the Faunus wrapped her hands, knuckles split and bleeding from connecting with several faces, Yang had apologized to her for once again going out of control. Blake had shaken her head, and told the brawler it was fine. And it was then that she had told the blonde the words that came back to her now, clear as day and strong as a bolt of lightning.

“It’s okay that you lost control. The important part is that you got it back.”

“What?”

Yang jerked in her seat, Summer’s words pulling her back into the present. She looked at the girl, who was staring back at her with confusion on her face – Yang realized that she’d accidentally said the words out loud.

“It’s something my partner once told me,” Yang said, smiling as she thought of Blake, her hand coming up to rest gently on the black ribbon tied around her arm, “when I used to lose control.”

She looked down at her hands, the knuckles scarred from years of punching enemies, healed but still remaining, withered with time.

“Everyone loses control sometimes. Even the best do every so often – not everyone can be in control, all the time. But the important part isn’t that we lose control at all.”

Yang glanced at Summer, the girl staring back at her with wide eyes, listening intently.

“It’s that we get it back.”

At this, Summer’s face split into a wide grin. Yang felt her own face mirroring the expression. Summer then looked thoughtful, and held up a finger (Yang half expected her to yell ‘eureka!’).

“It’s a good thing I’m good at that, then,” she said, “getting my control back!”

Pyrrha’s words came back to Yang then – find what they’re good at, and build upon that – and the brawler realized that Summer was right. Once the fire had gone out, the temperature falling back to the usual state, Summer often moved on quickly.

“Yeah,” replied Yang, “I guess you are.”

As she said it, she knew she really was. And sitting on the swings, Yang realized that without even meaning to, she’d built a bridge between herself and Summer. Not only did she now know what to focus on to help Summer get better, she’d also made the girl realize that she, too, could lose control. That even the best, the brightest can have outbursts – and that Yang is no exception.

The pair fell into their usual banter, complete with comments on one another’s age. As she teased Summer, Yang couldn’t help but consider her friends: Pyrrha truly was a teacher, especially if she was managing to teach Yang, even if it was only through memories. And Blake – Blake was still helping to fix her from her outbursts, after all these years. Even better, Blake’s words were no longer only helping Yang, but also helping Summer too.

Even after all this time, her friends were still helping her, Yang mused. It hurt in some ways to remember the conversations, but she had to laugh at the fact that both Blake and Pyrrha had become teachers from beyond the grave. Their lessons lived on in those that came after, passed on from teacher to student, never really fading away.

* * *

 _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is seventy-four._ Her house is quiet, the day still in the earlier hours of the morning. Yang moves throughout her home, getting ready for the day ahead. While the house isn’t exactly messy, she still feels the need to clean it, knowing that Weiss will comment on any flaw she can, just for the sake of old jokes.

The heiress and her sister will be coming to visit around lunchtime, while Pyrrha and Ren promised to come later that evening. Neptune already called Yang that morning to wish her a happy birthday – he had explained that he was away on business, and wouldn’t be able to make it in person. While Yang has always enjoyed talking with Neptune – he’d become a close friend of hers at Beacon, and the two had only grown closer since – the conversation had been short, brimming with words unsaid.

Neptune hadn’t been the same since Sun’s passing, the blonde Faunus’ presence missing from his partner’s life, something that hadn’t happened since the pair had met in school. While a few years had flown by since Sun’s passing, Yang knew that talking to her was only bringing back painful memories for Neptune. Even though he’d had time to move on – and had done so; at least, better than Ren – Yang’s current situation mirrored his own. After all, it was almost impossible to forget about the missing presences of the Faunus they once called their partners.

Yang moves into the guest room, having already cleaned her own. It isn’t dirty – no one has stayed over since Blake – but it’s still dusty, the dark wood surfaces lighter from the layer of dust formed on them. After shaking out the bed covers, Yang moves on to the dressers, wiping off the tops of them. She pauses on the last one though – and very slowly, carefully pulls open the top drawer of the bureau.

About a half hour later, she returns downstairs, having left the guest room behind with its door closed. Weiss wasn’t going to see it, so Yang didn’t have to clean it – at least, that was her ruling. In any case, she didn’t have to open the door again, didn’t have to clean it up anymore.

The streets are starting to come alive, signs of neighbours moving in and out of their homes visible through the windows. Yang doesn’t take notice – none of her neighbours really talk to her much anymore, though it’s more out of a lack of conversation topics than anything else. The brawler rustles through the fridge and cupboards in her kitchen, digging through cans of food and glassware until she locates what she is looking for.

Heading out to her back porch, Yang sits on the back stoop, reaching out for the bowl that sits nearby. A long time ago, Blake started to feed the stray cats that lived in Yang’s area, causing them to often come looking for food. Most of the cats no longer came, save a couple of new strays, but one cat had stayed in the neighbourhood, quickly becoming Yang’s favorite. He was shy and skitted away whenever Yang tried to pet him, but over time he’d become more accostumed to her presence.

Pulling out the plate she’d grabbed from the fridge, Yang balances the cat’s bowl on her knee as she picked up a piece of fish from the plate. Carefully holding it in one hand, she conjures up a small flame in the other, proceeding to roast the fish. Yang holds it for a few moments, before casting out the flame and dropping the fish into the bowl. She pushes it back to the corner of the porch, knowing that the cat will come to eat it when she isn’t around.

Yang places the plate back down, reaching for the object she’d pulled from the cupboard – a small, single striped candle. She lights it aflame too, and for a moment, simply sits in the quiet of the morning, the sounds of her neighbourhood coming alive around her. She blows out the candle shortly after, before the hot wax can drip onto her hands – she doesn’t make wishes much these days, and on this birthday, she can’t think of anything to wish for. Nothing possible by the universe’s standards, anyways.

Placing down the candle, Yang leans back to watch the morning sky. Above her, the awning over the back porch is drying from the night’s rain, the water droplets on the windows already having gone. The rooms with windows facing the back of her house are empty, one being a spare room she uses for storage sometimes, and the other being the guest room.

In the guest room, which still remains incompletely cleaned, is an open drawer, and an abandoned package lying on the bed. The drawer is dusty, a small rectangle clean and void of the dust, where the package had lain hidden away. The box itself is open on the bed, with black wrapping paper spread around it, a yellow bow abandoned nearby. A small note sits beside it, partially pushed back into its envelope, water marks on the page still drying. The box itself is empty, its contents already having been taken out.

Said content is now with Yang as she sits on the porch, watching the light in the sky grow with each passing minute. As the brawler shifts in her seat on the porch, her hair sways in time with her movements.

Her hair, once gold and shining, is now streaked with gray, but still remains long as ever. It’s pulled back into a braid – Yang had refused to cut it, but she begrudgingly began to tie it back, as it kept getting in her way. Strands stick out of the braid, hair as unruly as ever, but it pulls together well at the end, tied tight with the contents of the box.

Hours from now, Yang’s teammates will visit, followed later by her friends. But for now, she can still and let time pass by, letting the morning wind sway the braid of gray and gold, held together with a small, familiar black ribbon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo - finished the chapter! I know I said I'd make it quick... but I might have lied on that one. In any case, I'm back to working on the fic - it's great fun to write, even if I want to cry while doing it. For those who have read the first version of the chapter, take another look at it. I put in a bit of stuff right before Blake's birthday (the second one), so you won't want to miss that. Enjoy!


	3. Winter

_Today is Ruby’s birthday. She is forty-three._ The brunette is still confined to bed rest, but that doesn’t stop her from celebrating the day with as much youth and vigor as she can. Despite maturing over the years, birthdays are still one of Ruby’s favorite events – what better thing to celebrate than the fact you are alive? Several of her friends still share this sentiment – Sun, Yang, Nora – while others are more indifferent to birthdays – Weiss, Velvet, Pyrrha.

Speaking of the heiress, Weiss is present for Ruby’s birthday – the huntress has been taking care of her partner ever since she sustained her injury on the battlefield, making sure Ruby didn’t try to race out of bed and pull her stitches out, or something like that. Ruby knows Weiss feels partially responsible for her injury, being her partner and all, but even her regret doesn’t compare to that of her sister’s.

Yang hadn’t been by to see her sister very much – while she’d stuck by her side almost non-stop while Ruby had been hospitalized, the blonde had disappeared once the need for words became apparent. Blake had been by to see Ruby several times, each time offering up words in place of Yang. It hurt, but the younger sister knew that the woman needed time to heal, time to forgive herself. Ruby had forgiven her sister months ago, whether Yang accepted it or not.

“Yang!”

The sound of her sister’s name shakes Ruby from her thoughts, Nora’s exuberant yell resounding from downstairs. The hammer wielding huntress and her partner are helping Weiss with food for the evening – although, judging by the amount of reprimands from the heiress, the redhead is tasting more than she is cooking. Pyrrha had tagged along as well, but she’d left early to return to her injured partner, giving her best regards to Ruby.

A moment after Nora’s yell, Ruby hears the creak of the front door, followed by the sounds of footsteps entering her home. There is a flurry of conversation, punctuated by Weiss’s sharp comments and Nora’s happy giggles, too muddled for Ruby to hear properly. She does catch the last line, though – “upstairs, on the left.”

Footsteps resound with the command, tromping up the old wooden stairs. Ruby can tell who they belong to – fighting alongside her friends for years had left her with more than just battle habits – and sits up a little straighter, ready for the company. Moments later, two figures appear around the doorframe – a dark haired woman, with a blonde companion lingering back behind her. Ruby smiles at Blake and her sister, the former returning the grin.

Blake steps further into the room, coming up to sit in the chair that remained at Ruby’s bedside.

“Hello, Ruby,” she says, smiling softly, “how are you doing?”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Ruby replies, flashing a mischievous grin, “being confined to bed rest is worse that that time we fell into the fishing docks. It’s especially boring too, since Weiss is around.”

Blake laughs at this, well accustomed to the playful jabs the heiress and scythe wielder often exchange with one another.

“It can’t be that bad,” she says, “after all, Weiss hasn’t taken away your cookies yet.”

“Don’t give her any more ideas,” Ruby groaned, “or else it’ll be worse than when she tried to ban me from them in third year.”

The memory causes them both to smile, as the incident had been pretty bad – Ruby’s love for cookies and Weiss’ disdain over it had been a running joke for them throughout the years. The heiress’ attempt at banning the younger girl from her favorite treat had been disasterous, to say the least, and neither party had fully forgotten it.

“Blaaaaake!”

Nora’s yell echoes up from downstairs, drowing out Weiss’ protests from inside the kitchen.

“Come taste the chicken!”

Blake rolls her eyes at this, but stands up anyways.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, nodding to the younger woman, “once Nora stops trying to force feed me whatever concoction has come out of that kitchen.”

Ruby laughs and raises her hand in goodbye as the dark haired woman retreats, pausing in the doorway. Yang still lingers, leaning up against the door jamb, not fully in the room. The blonde looks up as Blake passes, a hesitant expression on her face. Blake reaches out and gives Yang a light shove with her fingertips, causing the blonde to stumble slightly into the room.

“Talk,” she says, amber eyes staring pointedly at her partner.

Then quietly, like everything else she does, Blake disappears around the doorway and into the hallway. The sisters listen to the retreating footsteps for a moment, before silence fully takes over the room.

Yang stands awkwardly by the foot of Ruby’s bed, looking anywhere but at her sister – her eyes jump from the package in her hand, to the floor, to the pictures on the walls. Ruby watches her, not saying anything – she knows her sister well enough to not try and push her to speak, but rather to wait until the brawler finds her own words.

After a minute or two, Yang breaks the silence herself, sighing as she sits down into the chair Blake had recently vacated.

“How... how’s the injury?” she asks, finally looking up at Ruby

It was the first words she’d said to her sister in the months since she’d received the injury.

“Healing up just fine,” Ruby says, not even missing a beat.

Yang blinks, thrown off by her simple answer.

“Well, that – that’s good,” she says, before glancing down at her lap and picking up the package that resides there.

“Here,” she mutters, holding out the gift to her sister, looking away, “This is for you.”

Ruby accepts it slowly, an eyebrow raised. Of all the things she’d expected to come from Yang, a gift hadn’t been one of them.

“Thanks,” she replies softly, turning her attention to opening the gift.

A ribbon falls, then paper, revealing a white box underneath. Yang is watching her now, eyes carefully tracking her reaction. Ruby slowly lifts the lid of the box – and instinctively takes a breath at what lies within.

Red fills her vision. With trembling hands, Ruby slowly pulls the object out of the box – crimson cloth spills across her lap as the fabric unfolds, a familiar object making itself recognizable. There, in Ruby’s hands, sits an object she’d thought she’d lost forever – a worn red cloak, carried with her since childhood.

The last time she’d seen the cloak was during the battle in which she had been injured – a beowolf had snagged it, tearing it slightly – and when she’d awoken in the hospital without it, she’d assumed it had been ruined. Yet here it is, held tightly in her hands – the exact same cloak, right down to the ‘made with love’ tag sewn in around the collar.

Ruby lets her hands fall, the fabric billowing around her as she does. Mouth slightly open, she stares at her sister – who looks between her and the cloak, eyes wary. Words do not come to the younger sister, leaving her only able to gaze at her sister in confusion and wonder. Eventually, Yang clears her throat, looking away as she speaks.

“It was pretty badly torn up when you were… injured,” she says, voice wavering slightly at the last word, “even Weiss thought it couldn’t be salvaged. She figured we could make it into a scarf, or something.

Yang looks down at her hands, fists unclenching to reveal open palms, dotted and scarred.

“I fixed it up as best I could,” she says softly, “I know it’s not as good as Summer could have done, but…”

Yang lets her sentence trail off, but Ruby is no longer really listening to her words. The woman is instead taking in the fact that in the time her sister had been avoiding her, the blonde woman had actually been taking the time to piece back together a piece of her childhood, one of her most important possessions.

Ruby heolds up the cloak again – now, upon further inspection, she can see the lines of stitches that hold the fabric back together. Rows of red thread scored the cloak like lines in the palm of a hand, small uneven stitches recreating the cape. The lines stood out in contrast to the original hems – Yang’s clumsy stitches next to Summer’s gorgeous ones. Still, it was clear how much focus had gone into the stitching – Ruby pictured Yang trying to keep her hands as steady as possible, stitches as even as she could make them. Hands usually used for destruction instead being used for creation.

Yang had fallen into focusing on those very hands, studying her palms in the silence that had returned. Ruby lays down the cloak, softly calling her sister’s name to catch the blonde’s attention. Yang looks up at her voice, startling slightly at the expression on Ruby’s face.

“Sis...?” she says slowly, trying to place the emotions on the younger woman’s face.

Ruby says nothing, for a moment. Then, carefully, she leans forwards and catches her unsuspecting sister in an enveloping hug. She feels Yang tense at the sudden contact – but after a moment, the brawler hesitantly returns at, strong arms coming up to rest gently on Ruby’s back. The sister says nothing, but instead acknowledges Yang’s return by holding her tighter, pulling her close and resting her head on her shoulder.

They sit that way in silence for a moment, until Ruby feels an odd sensation – Yang’s breath hitches, first once, then again, and then several times in a row. It wasn’t clear why until Ruby fell a warmth on her shoulder – the unmistakable sensation of tears. She said nothing, but began to slowly rub a hand up and down Yang’s back, letting the action say what she couldn’t put into words. Yang only cried harder, sobs starting to shake the brawler, her fingers scrabbling on Ruby’s back, trying to hold on even more to her sister.

Ruby didn’t know how long they sat that way – minutes, possibly even an hour. No one disturbed them, and Ruby knew that Blake had left them alone on purpose, somehow even managing to quell Nora from interrupting the sisters’ reunion. Yang, for her part, cried freely – and it was in her tears that Ruby felt her pain, her regret, her guilt. Eventually, Yang pulls away, wiping at the few loose tears that still slipped down her cheeks.

“Ruby,” she says, voice thick with emotion, “I’m sorry.”

She pauses, but Ruby waits, knowing she still has more to say.

“I’m sorry for everything – for not having come to see you until now, for the gift, for the injury –”

Yang’s voice catches at the last part, tears starting to resurface.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ruby interrupts, eyes narrowing slightly at her sister, “my injury was never your fault.”

“But–”

“No, Yang, listen to me. I know you’ve been blaming yourself for my injury. I know how you felt when we stepped off that battlefield, and how you’ve felt ever since. And I’m sorry for not having been able to talk to you about it sooner.”

Yang tries to interrupt, but Ruby cuts her off with a shake of her head, silencing the brawler.

“Yang, we all make bad choices. We buy the wrong things, meet the wrong people, make the wrong choices in a fight. And sometimes they end out okay, sometimes badly, sometimes for the best. We never know until they’ve happened. But if there’s one thing I do know – it’s that my choosing to save you that day, injury be damned, was _anything_ but a bad decision.”

Yang began to cry again, silently, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

“I don’t care that I got hurt. I don’t care that I have to put up with Weiss’ constant reprimands for the next three months. I don’t even care that my huntressing career is over.”

She pauses at this – it is hard to admit, but she knows the truth, and also knows that she can accept it.

“I care that I can still see my sister, can still talk to her, can still hear her laugh. And I know that if I hadn’t chosen to jump in front of you during that fight, then I wouldn’t be able to do all those things anymore. It doesn’t matter what I may have lost, Yang. What matters the most to me, and always will, is that I haven’t lost you.”

At this, Yang’s control breaks. She moves forwards, grabbing Ruby into a hug, her usual strength showing through. Ruby holds her back tightly, letting her older sister cry into her shoulder. After a moment, Yang pulls away once more, smiling openly.

“Just what in Remnant,” she says, wiping a tear away, “did I ever do to deserve a sister like you?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Ruby shoots back, smiling at her sister.

And just like that, the sisters fall back into their old habits – playful banter returning to the room, light teasing and laughter filling their conversation. Downstairs, two women will smile at the sounds of the laughter, the dark haired one smiling against the rim of her mug while the white haired one smiles at the countertop.

There are many things in this world that can be replaced – clothing, weapons, even homes. But some things, once lost, are lost forever, and their void can never be filled. And of all these things, there is one that both Ruby and Yang know they are lucky to never have lost – a sister’s love.

* * *

 

Puffs of steam filled the air, emanating from Yang’s mouth like the smoke of a dragon. She smirked at the imagery – there had been a time, at one point in her life, when she’d been able to control her flames as if breathing them. It hadn’t been a particularly powerful move, or her most useful one – she set Blake’s asscape on fire at one point – but it had been a neat party trick. At least, until Weiss banned her from using it, as revenge over the loss of her favorite curtains.

A surge of heat suddenly flared to life nearby her, drawing Yang’s attention back to her concentrating student. Summer stood several meters away, pulsing her semblance in an even beat, as if to a song neither of them could hear. Watching the young girl fall into a state of concentration, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed, Yang seized her chance. Reaching into her pocket, the blonde withdrew a small rubber ball, aiming it towards the defenseless girl in front of her.

She paused, waiting for the right moment – then, as the girl sent out another flare of heat, tossed the ball directly at Summer. It hit her right on the shoulder, a glancing blow that didn’t hurt, but did catch her attention. Red eyes snapped open, and Yang felt the air around her spike slightly in temperature. She raised an eyebrow at the young girl, who caught her mistake as well, irritation having sparked a reaction.

Summer frowned, looking away and breathing steadily, trying to bring her semblance back under control. The air temperature wavered, changing from cool to warm, and back again. After several minutes, the heat dissipated completely, leaving Yang shivering in the cold once more.

“Good job, kiddo,” Yang said, sticking up a gloved thumb in approval, “Now try activating it again.”

Summer nodded, closing her eyes once more to try and concentrate. Once again, a pulse of heat flared to life around them – but this time, it was much hotter than before, melting the thin layer of snow that lay on the ground. The heat remained longer, once again changing intensity as Summer struggled to get it back under control. As the warmth faded away once more, the young girl groaned, throwing her head back.

“I thought I had it that time,” she complained, rubbing at her eye, which had faded back to its usual colour.

Yang laughed, the sound carrying easily through the cold air, her breath in wisps around her mouth.

“It sure isn’t that easy,” she said, walking over towards the girl and dropping down to one knee, “what do you say we call it a day? I’d rather not lose my fingers to the cold, thank you very much.”

Summer frowned, eyes focusing on the melting snow before her gaze snapped back up to Yang.

“One more time,” she demanded, determination set into her young features, “but on hard mode this time.”

Yang quirked an eyebrow at the request.

“Hard mode, eh?” she repeated, then smiled in relent, “sure, why not. Let’s give it a shot.”

She stepped away, giving the younger girl space once more. Summer looked at her, nodded to signify her readiness, and closed her eyes. The air around them began to heat up once more, steady warmth that grew at the edges of the snow and brought feeling back into Yang’s fingertips. The elderly woman gave pause, about a minute, before she reached into her pocket and withdrew several of the small rubber balls.

Catching the heat at its peak, she tossed one at Summer – almost immediately, the air around them spiked slightly, but Yang didn’t relent, instead tossing another, then one more, and again, until Summer’s control finally broke. The air around them flared sharply, heat hitting Yang’s face as though she were standing too close to the sun. Long used to the heat of her own semblance, Yang didn’t react, but the few leaves scattered in the snow around them shriveled up. The snow itself melted completely, a puddle forming on the playground’s tarmac.

Summer clenched her fists, eyes snapping open to reveal reddened pupils. Yang, seeing her chance, tossed one final ball at the girl – Summer reached out and caught it, the rubber melting slightly in her grip. Slowly, but steadily, the temperature fell once more, reverting to the winter’s cold. Steam rose from the ground and their mouths, tendrils of steam dissipating into the frigid air.

Summer groaned loudly again, hands coming up to rub at her eyes before dragging down her face, pulling down her eyelids. Yang laughed at the girl’s reaction; it wasn’t the first time it had happened, after all. Summer’s hands stopped, the girl’s eyelids still pulled down slightly, making her look like some sort of monster. She let go of her face then, pouting at her elder’s amusement. Yang snorted at the expression on her face, before reaching down and scooping up a handful of snow.

“Oh, lighten up,” she laughed, “You asked for it, after all!”

Yang threw the fistful of snow towards the girl – Summer raised her hands, letting her semblance activate once more. The snow melted immediately – and then promptly gave Summer a shower. The young girl yelped, shaking the water droplets from her hair and eyelashes, before glaring at her mentor, who had broken into full on laughter.

“I told you it wasn’t perfect,” Yang said with a grin, “fire doesn’t stop everything.”

Summer nodded begrudgingly, before she turned to retrieve the scattered balls from Yang’s last attack. Handing them back to the woman, she gave a half-smile, looking up at Yang.

“Guess we should stop there for the day,” she said, mirth twinkling in her eyes, “wouldn’t want to tire you out by tossing balls around, now would we?”

“You’re just mad because you can’t keep up with all these balls,” Yang shot back, not even missing a beat. Summer gave her a light shove, scowling as the elderly woman laughed.

“Alright, enough talking about balls,” Yang said, pretending to wipe a tear away from her eye, “time to head home.”

“Sweet!”

The young girl threw her hands in the air in triumph, racing out of the park ahead of her mentor.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me you don’t like hanging out with me?”

“What’s there to like about hanging around with a grandma who talks about balls?”

Summer’s laugh filled the air as Yang rolled her eyes, raising her hands in mock surrender. The woman followed her pupil out of the park, Summer racing ahead of her in the street. Yang had taken to walking with the girl until their paths split, somehow enjoying the time with the girl.

Summer was still laughing, her initial howls having faded away into small giggles. Yang listened, an odd sense of nostalgia in her heart – no matter how much she had tried to deny at first, hearing it assuaged all doubts. Summer had Ruby’s laugh, a mirthful sound that brought smiles to those around it. The first time the girl had laughed – and really, truly laughed – Yang had almost done a double take; she could have sworn it was her sister laughing at her once more.

Ruby wasn’t the only one she saw in Summer, either. More and more, she saw remnants of her former teammates – Blake’s snark, Weiss’s pout. Even her friends appeared in the young girl, in the way she waved her hands when she talked, her endless enthusiasm, her moments of quiet contemplation, her genuine apologies. JNPR, Sun, Neptune, Velvet – they appeared in quick flashes, just enough to shake Yang up, then were gone again.

Yang was starting to see them in herself, too – she’d catch herself once in a while taking on the mannerisms of a teammate: Ruby’s enthusiastic way of explaining an idea; Blake’s endless ability of countering with sarcastic replies; even Weiss’s brutal sincerity. Yang had always known they’d taken on characteristics of one another – fighting alongside someone for many years would do that – but she’d never seen it reflected in a member other than her team, making it even more obvious in herself.

“Hey, Yang! Check this out!”

Yang pulled herself out of her thoughts and back towards her young pupil, who had pulled herself up onto a nearby fence and was walking along the edge of it. Yang smiled at the sight – despite having a nearly fully-awakened semblance, Summer was still just a kid, and Yang tended to forget that sometimes.

“Alright, kiddo, come down before you hurt yourself.”

Summer stuck her tongue out in protest – Yang may or may not have returned the gesture – but jumped down anyways, obeying her mentor. She returned to Yang’s side, the pair strolling down the rural street. It was quiet, the cold winter air having pushed the neighbours back into their homes, to the safety of their fireplaces and central heating. The two troublemakers in the street were their own personal furnaces, so they didn’t have much of a problem with the season.

Summer walked in dramatized steps, taking long strides to try and match that of Yang’s. The gestures made the elderly woman smile, falling back into her thoughts. Summer did remind her of her teammates and friends, but there was someone else she saw in the girl; someone she couldn’t exactly place, but saw signs of even more often than the others.

The pair reached the end of the street, where it gave way to a crossing, and heard their names called from nearby.

“Summer? Yang?”

They turned to see Scarla standing nearby, arms holding onto bags filled with groceries.

“Mum!”

Summer raced towards her mother, Scarla placing down the bags in time to catch her child in an open armed hug, spinning her around. Yang smiled at the sight, memories of her own childhood and a previous Summer returning to her.

“Training done for the day?” Scarla asked, putting her daughter down and ruffling the girl’s hair. She frowned as her fingers made contact.

“Summer, why is your hair all wet?”

The girl pouted overtly, pointing a finger at her teacher.

“Yang threw a snowball at me,” she grumbled, causing both Scarla and the perpetrator to laugh.

“Can’t you just dry yourself off anyways?” asked her mother, having heard all about the traits of her daughters semblance, when it wasn’t lighting her tablecloths on fire.

Summer grinned, and was about to engage her semblance when Scarla caught wind of the impending danger – at least, danger to her groceries – and intervened.

“Noooo,” she said firmly, dragging out the word, “no engaging your semblance right next to someone who _isn’t_ fireproof.”

She sent a pointed look at her daughter at her last words, causing Summer to rub her head and apologize sheepishly. Yang smiled fondly at their interaction, before she raised a hand to indicate her departure.

“Well, I guess this is where I’ll take my leave for today,” she said, catching the attention of both mother and daughter, “see you tomorrow, Summer.”

“Take care!”

Scarla’s farewell mixed with Summer’s enthusiastic wave as Yang turned around and started to make her way down the street, back to her own home. She paused at the cry of her name, turning back around to face Summer, who stood in the middle of the street, Scarla already having begun to walk away before she stopped.

“Hey, Yang!” Summer repeated, a grin a mile wide spreading across her face, “Xiao Long!”

Yang’s mouth dropped open in shock – she couldn’t even find it within her to wince at the way Summer had butchered the first part of her name to make it sound like ‘sho.’ Satisfied at the elderly woman’s reaction, Summer cackled fiendishly, then turned and ran back towards her mother.

Yang stood in the street for a minute more, watching the part retreat. Despite having been an avid pun enthusiast for many years, she’d never expected _Summer_ of all people to throw one at her, least of all about her name. She shook her head slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Dear god, Ruby,” she said softly, “I’ve created a monster.” 

* * *

 

The empty house greeted Yang, the sound of the door echoing through the rooms as she closed it behind her and stomped her boots on the mat. Pulling off her jacket and stepping out her boots, she made her way towards the kitchen, towards the cabinet that held a vast amount of tea.

She’d honestly never been a huge fan of the drink – coffee was more her style – but her partner had been an avid drinker of tea, hoarding more flavours than the brawler had ever suspected even existed. Once Blake had passed, Yang had given most of the tea to Weiss – but when the heiress was gone too, the tea had made its way back to Yang, stored away in a cupboard. She made a cup once in a while, especially on the colder days, and it felt as if both Blake and Weiss were still around, at least in the warmth of the mug she held in her hands.

As Yang waited for the hot water to boil – she didn’t think she’d ever get over having to wait for something to boil, having been an instant heater for many years – she walked into the front room, flopping down onto the couch situated there. The springs creaked underneath her weight, the furniture having borne its fair share of weight over the years. Stains marred the dark fabric, only noticeable up close – Jaune’s ink spill still remained on the cushions all these years later.

Yang rolled onto her back, arm slung over her eyes for a while, before she let it slide off her face. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling as her thoughts drifted into the past, spurred on by Summer and Scarla’s interactions earlier that day.

The scene had been overly familiar to the woman – it mirrored Yang as a young girl, with a Summer of her own: Ruby’s biological mother, Yang’s ‘adopted’ one. Though Summer hadn’t been her true mother, Yang had never seen her in any other way, nor had seen Ruby as anything but her full sister. And seeing the new Summer and her own mother had brought back memories of Yang’s childhood, of a woman who smiled like the sun and smelled faintly of roses and baked cookies better than anyone else in the world (Yang had tried to make her recipe in the years since her passing; they’d never even come close to Summer’s standards).

The water finished boiling in the other room, the kettle signifying the heat with a shrill shriek in the other room, but Yang didn’t get up to tend to it. Instead, she continued to lie there, letting her memories drift through the past. She didn’t think too hard, didn’t latch on to any memory in particular, but instead just allowed the years to pass by in the same way the world passes by on a road trip: flowing by steadily, details lost in blurs of colour and distance.

The warmth of nostalgia blended with the slight pain of memories in Yang’s chest, and eventually the brawler sat up, running a hand through her disheveled hair. A sense of calm had come over her, an occurrence that always came from thinking about her sister. Yang smiled as she considered this – thinking about Ruby had always calmed her down, and eventually that sense of calm had spread from memories of Blake and the former Summer as well.

Yang paused, her brows furrowing as she considered this. She had, in fact, forgotten that Ruby had always been a source of calm for her older sister – well, not quite forgotten, but rather had become so used to it that it no longer occurred to her anymore. The trick to keeping her cool in stressful situations had always been the presence or thought of her sister – and maybe, Yang realized, that’s what Summer needed too.

Not necessarily a sister, but just someone who Summer felt safe around, someone who helped the girl stay calm. Her parents, perhaps, or a distant relative, or even a neighbour. Heck, even Yang could fill that role – but really, there was only one way to find out, and that was to go and ask.

Yang sighed, pulling herself up from the couch. She cast a glance towards the kettle, still sitting on the stove – in her musings, the warmth had faded from the pot, leaving it with the same lukewarm water it had begun as. She abandoned the prospect of tea, instead heading back to the front door to pull her jacket and boots back on.

It had begun snowing lightly outside, something Yang could see through the window. She grasped the door handle, ready to make the trip to Summer’s house. Before she did, however, she turned to the photograph that sat on its usual shelf, and muttered a soft goodbye to her teammates. Then she opened the door, stepping out into the snow.

* * *

 

 _Today is Ruby’s birthday. She is seventy-nine._ The room is quieter than usual, but still merry, laughter coming from the four inside of it. Ruby sits in the middle, Yang and Weiss on either side – and Pyrrha, the last of Team JNPR, mirrors her. The absence of their other teammates and friends is, as always, noticeable, but they’ve had several years to get used to it.

The cake has been cut – a small, cookie cake, because Ruby’s never fully grown out of that habit – presents given, words exchanged and wishes made. Now, the four make small talk, mentioning the weather, politics, _adult things_. They talk of the current state of hunters and huntresses, but take clear to steer away from Beacon, their own careers, and those who shared it with them.

Ruby shifts, the pillows against her back sliding lower, only making her more uncomfortable. Weiss, ever observant, catches the movement and reaches out to give her a hand. As she settles back in, she looks up to see Pyrrha and Yang watching her carefully, worry in their eyes.

“You alright, sis?” Yang asks quietly, to which Ruby nods emphatically.

“Just fine,” she replied, “pillows just starting falling, that’s all.”

The former redhead and blonde nod, satisfied by her answer. To say anything else would have worried them at this point, at least for Yang, who has been following the details of her infection ever since she’d been informed of it. With the winter cold chilling her bones, Ruby’s wound had fallen to an infection – and while the doctors said it wasn’t anything to be concerned of, she knew her sister was worried nonetheless. And so, to appease any lingering doubts, Ruby falls back into her usual upbeat tone, digging into her remaining cake with gusto.

“Wow,” she says happily, “this cake is great.”

Weiss smiles proudly – at some point, she gave up on fighting her partner’s love for cookies, and instead decided to just learn to make them – and Yang returns to her own slice, making happy noises as she devours it.

Then, the words are out, before anyone can stop them.

“Aw, man, Nora would have loved it.”

Yang freezes, fork still in her mouth, realizing exactly what she has said. Weiss and Ruby still as well, eyes slowly coming up to rest on Pyrrha, whose eyes are downcast, pointed towards her lap. Time hangs still for a moment, and then–

“She really would have. Ren would probably have scolded her for eating too much.”

Pyrrha’s emerald eyes, bright as ever, twinkle with both nostalgia and sadness. Ruby feels a smile grow on her own face – glances to Yang and Weiss show similar results for them. Yang laughs, the happy sound straining to fight back the slight edges of sorrow creeping in.

“Blake probably would have done the same to me,” she says, earning wider grins from her teammates.

“Jaune would have dropped his slice,” Weiss mutters, prompting a loud laugh from Pyrrha.

The jokes go on from there, filling the room with laughter louder than the four expected they could make. There is sadness tinged in it all, of course, as always happens whenever they remember those who are gone. But as they recall their friends, Ruby almost feels as if they’re still with them, still in the room, just hidden from view.

She can hear Sun’s booming laugh, Jaune’s spluttered protest, Nora’s exuberant giggles and Ren’s quiet counterparts. It is almost as if talking about them brings back Blake’s smirks, Velvet’s smiles hidden behind her hand, and Neptune’s eye rolls. Ruby glances at the three who remain – her sister, her partner, and her everlasting friend – and thinks that even if the others are gone, there is still plenty to be thankful for, and plenty that remains. Because in the laughter and the jokes, her friends live on, and it almost feels like nothing has changed.

Later, Pyrrha and Weiss will head downstairs with plates to the kitchen, and Yang will stay behind with her sister, groaning from having eaten too much cake. Ruby will tease, remarking on how she really did need Blake to keep her from doing stupid things, and Yang will make some half-hearted protest against it. The sisters will fall into silence, then, the soft sounds of clinking tableware interrupting the comfortable quiet that has fallen between them.

Then, in the warm glow of the setting sun, Ruby will ask Yang one thing.

“Do you think Summer would have been proud of us?”

Yang will take a moment to think about the question, answer forming as she pulls up memories of a lifetime gone by. Of the people they’d saved, the same way their mother had given her life to protect those who needed it. Of their relationship as sisters, tested by time but always remaining, steadfast and strong. Of their lives with their friends, filling each passing day with laughter and love. Of the legacy Summer left behind, that Yang and Ruby carried on.

It will take her a moment, but eventually, she will answer.

“I know she would be.”

Ruby will smile, and Yang will smile back, and they will fall into the small talk that has become so common between the pair, the mechanist and the weapons specialist. They will continue to do so until Pyrrha and Weiss return, and the afternoon will fall back into its usual pattern, the question of Summer long forgotten.

But Yang won’t forget it – no, she’ll remember it later, on a cold day with grey skies and softly falling snow, the day she no longer has a sister. But until then, she won’t think about the question, won’t consider that her sister knew she was at the end of her days, won’t even wonder how long they have left together. Instead, she’ll sit by Ruby’s side and continue to laugh with her, for as long as she still can.

* * *

 

Yang tromped up the steps of Summer’s porch slowly, shoulders hunched against the cold winter air. She knocked on the door heavily, breath coming out as puffs, the steam fogging up the glass on the windows. She could hear footsteps from within – a faint ‘coming’ sounded from behind the door – and a moment later, the door was unlocked with a jingle and pulled open. Scarla stood in the doorway, and for a moment Yang saw surprise flash across her face, before she smiled warmly. She stepped aside, gesturing for the elderly woman to enter as she spoke.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Please, come in!”

Yang obliged, brushing the light layer of snow dusting her shoulders off as she entered the warmth of the home. She glanced around as she stomped off her boots – she’d never really entered Summer’s home, instead lingering at the doorway like some kind of vampire forbidden to enter. Pictures hung on the wall, but glares of light kept her from seeing the details. Rugs sat on the hardwood floors, and children’s clothes were scattered around – sweaters hung on the stair railing, sneakers fell out of the closest, and a bin of hats and gloves lay abandoned beside the door. Scarla’s face matched the nature of her name as she took in the mess, before looking up at Yang sheepishly.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said, “I would have cleaned up had I known you were coming.”

Yang laughed, waving a hand in dismissal.

“It’s alright,” she replied, an easy grin settling on her face, “I lived with three teenage girls in a small dorm for four years. I know what messes can look like, believe me.”

Scarla laughed, a sound akin to the ringing of bells. She gestured for Yang to follow her, stepping through a doorway into a small kitchen.

“I was just about to put some tea on,” she said, just as Yang caught sight of the kettle and mugs, “would you like some?”

Yang nodded, guiltily recalling her own kettle, which she had abandoned on her own stove. Scarla set the water to boil, grabbing an extra mug and tossing a tea bag into it.

“So,” the woman began, sitting down at a small table nearby, “dare I ask the reason for your visit? Not to say I don’t enjoy guests, but this was a little… unexpected.”

Yang smiled, taking a seat as well.

“Actually, I came by because I had a question regarding Summer’s training.”

“Did you want me to go get her? She’s playing out back at the moment.”

“No, no,” Yang replied, shaking her head at the offer, “I actually wanted to speak to you about it.”

Scarla’s eyebrow raised, but she didn’t say anything, letting Yang continue.

“I’m not sure how much you know about Summer’s training,” Yang began, “but right now we’re working on her emotion control.”

“Keeping her anger under wraps, right?”

“Something like that,” Yang said, shrugging slightly, “fire semblance owners are especially susceptible to emotions, as you’ve probably figured out. Our powers are triggered easily, and often any emotion can set them into play, if we aren’t careful. Summer has gotten a good handle on holding her control for most emotions, but she’s reached one of the harder parts of training now.”

“It’s one thing to keep calm in normal situations, but when you find yourself under pressure in a stressful scenario, it’s much harder to keep your semblance from igniting. I struggled with this as well when I was young, so it’s no surprise that Summer is, as well.”

The kettle whistled, signifying the water ready for tea. Scarla stood to attend to it, but gestured for Yang to continue.

“When I was younger, my uncle taught me a good way of keeping my semblance from firing up at anger or stress. He told me to think of my sister, and it always calmed me down. Eventually, that effect spread to thinking about my teammates, so I was never without a way to calm down after that.”

Scarla returned to the table, setting a mug down in front of Yang as she returned to her seat.

“So,” she said, lifting the mug to her lips and blowing the steam away, “you’re looking for something Summer can think of to calm down?”

Yang nodded, the warmth of the mug spilling across her palms as she took hold of it.

“I was wondering if Summer had anyone she was especially close to, or looked up to. A relative, or very close friend, perhaps. A treasure aunt, soulmate, or friendly neighbour… though, judging from the reactions I got when I was first trying to find Summer, I doubt she has many of those.”

Scarla laughed at the comment, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Then she placed her mug down, looking sincerely at Yang.

“I think I know someone who can help,” she said, “come with me.”

She rose from the table, Yang doing the same, and left the kitchen to the hallway they had entered from. They walked down it into a small laundry room, filled with children’s items – Yang briefly wondered just how much stuff one kid needed, then realized it was Summer she was thinking about.

Scarla went to the door in the laundry room and opened it, leading way onto a porch that overlooked the small backyard. Yang followed her out onto it, shivering slightly at the cold winter air, before freezing fully at the sight before her.

A scene that was all too familiar played out before her. Two girls, laughing and shrieking as they played in the snow, raced across the backyard. One was clearly older than the other, but not by much. The pair were lost in their own world, oblivious to the two adults standing on the porch. At least, until Scarla called out one of their names.

“Summer!” she yelled, prompting both heads to snap in their direction.

Yang hid a smirk as she heard the rest of the woman’s comment, hidden under her breath.

“Oh, for the love of dust, where did your hat go this time…”

“Yang!”

Summer’s cry travelled to the woman on the porch as the young girl bounded towards her, an expression of happiness and bewilderment splashed across her features. The girl came up before the steps of the porch, taking an assertive stance and pointing a stern finger at Yang.

“Now, what did I tell you about travelling alone in this weather,” she asked demandingly, “after all, if you slip on ice and break your hip, no one will be around to help you up!”

Yang rolled her eyes, Scarla smiling at the comment, by now used to the teasing nature of their relationship.

“Well, if I break my hip, that just means I won’t have to teach you anymore, right?” Yang shot back, a wicked grin spreading across her face, “Guess I should go walk on ice more often.”

Summer feigned offence at the remark, as Scarla laughed openly.

“You’re a terrible influence on Yang, Summer,” she said, grinning at the girl’s look of betrayal.

“Yes. Me. I am the terrible influence,” Summer deadpanned, her eyes staring straight at her mentor.

Before Yang could reply, a small giggle rang out from behind Summer. Lilac eyes drifted to the small girl who stood partially hidden behind the older girl, timidly looking up at Yang. Summer noticed Yang’s gaze shift, and followed it to the girl at her side. She stepped aside, placing a supportive hand on the girl’s back, and giving her a light push towards the elderly woman.

“It’s alright, Autumn,” she said, at the look of worry that was on the young girl’s face, “this is just the teacher I was telling you about. You know, the old one who’s helping me stop being so warm all the time?”

Autumn’s face turned into a look of understanding at this, and she looked back up to Yang, before she took a step away.

“Oh, she’s harmless,” Summer said, laughing at the look of incense that passed onto Yang’s face, “kind of like those wind up teeth that clack a lot, but can’t actually hurt you.”

Yang’s pupil mimed the teeth with her hand, adding the sounds as her fingers snapped together. Autumn giggled as Summer glanced curiously back up at her teacher.

“ _Are_ your teeth those fake clacking ones?”

Yang resisted the urge to choke her student, instead opening her mouth and pointing to the very real teeth that resided inside. Autumn giggled again, all traces of fear gone from her face. She looked back up at Summer, who nodded with a smile and gave another supportive push.

Autumn walked up the steps of the porch to where Yang stood, the elderly woman kneeling down on instinct (the look of glee on Summer’s face at the cracks that sounded cannot be described in words). The younger girl shuffled her feet nervously, hands twisting in her mittens, before she looked up at the elderly woman and flashed a bright smile.

“Hi, Yang,” she said, “I’m Autumn, Summer’s sister.”

Yang felt her heart drop at this, but she recovered enough to return the smile and answer the greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Autumn,” she replied, “I’m Summer’s teacher, Yang. And I might be old” – at this, she shot Summer a glare – “but I do know what I’m talking about, so don’t let your sister tell you I’m useless, or anything.”

Autumn laughed, her head leaning back slightly, causing the hat on her head to slip back a couple of inches. It was enough to cause an ear to come popping out – a small, round, furry ear, the clear sign of a Faunus. Autumn flushed at this, hands hurrying to pull her hat back over it – but Yang reached out before she could, pulling the hat on for her. She gave the girl a smile, noting the reactions of Summer and Scarla – both were watching nervously, waiting to see how she’d react.

“Hey, Autumn,” she said softly, drawing the girl’s eyes back to her, “want to know something cool?”

She pointed to her arm then, towards the black ribbon that was wrapped around it.

“My partner was a Faunus, too.”

The girl’s eyebrows raised as her mouth dropped, before she hesitantly spoke.

“… Really?”

“Yup,” Yang laughed, “She had cat ears, kind of similar to yours. Kept them under a ribbon for a long time, but she wore them out in the open eventually.”

She reached her hand out again, ruffling the top of the girl’s head.

“I’m used to them, don’t worry.”

Autumn laughed, any traces of hesitancy gone, and she nodded before bounding down the steps to return to her sister’s side. Summer dodged her hug before snatching the back of her sister’s jacket to keep her from faceplanting in the snow.

Yang found herself smiling at their antics, reminded of another time, long ago. Scarla came up to her side, and the pair stood in silence for a moment, watching the girls play.

“So,” Scarla said after a minute or so, “think she’ll do?”

Yang must have looked confused, because Scarla clarified a second later.

“Autumn, I mean. As a person for Summer to think of when she needs to calm down.”

Yang shrugged, watching the girls again.

“Only one way to find out,” she replied, before stepping down the porch steps into the snowy backyard.

“Hey, Summer! Come here for a second. I want to try something.”

Summer complied, trotting over with an intrigued expression.

“I have an idea for you to try,” Yang said as she came close enough to hear her, “I want you to do what we were doing earlier today, with the balls in the park.”

The chance of a balls joke was ignored as Summer flashed a nervous glance at her sister and mother, who were watching curiously.

“They can stand up on the porch,” Yang explained, “so they won’t feel the heat that way. I’ll stay down here with you, so nothing really changes.”

“But it didn’t work this morning,” Summer interrupted, unease on her features, “how’s it going to work now?”

“Because you’re going to do something different this time,” Yang said, “When you feel anger rising up, I want you to think of your sister.”

Summer perked up at this, raising her eyebrow at her mentor.

“Autumn?”

“Do you have another sister I have yet to learn about?”

Summer shook her head, smiling.

“Then Autumn it is. Ready to give it a shot?”

Summer nodded, and Yang stepped back. She mentioned for Autumn to follow her to the porch where Scarla stood.

“Summer’s about to use her semblance,” she explained as Autumn climbed up the steps, “so you two can’t be too close.

“You mean her warmth?”

Yang’s eyebrows shot up at the name for Summer’s semblance, but she nodded just the same. Then an idea occurred to her, and a slightly wicked grin passed her features.

“Actually, I know a way you can help, too.”

A few minutes later, Summer stood in the center of the yard, Yang off to the side. She glanced at her mentor, who nodded reassuringly, and then engaged her semblance. A warmth spread through the air, and the snow around Summer’s feet began to melt.

Yang waited a few moments, before she took aim and lobbed a snowball towards the young girl. It glanced off her shoulder, semblance not yet strong enough to melt it in midair. A red iris cracked open, glaring towards Yang, who smirked and threw another.

Summer frowned in concentration, the heat wavering slightly. Yang nodded towards Scarla and Autumn then, and both followed through with her idea – two snowballs glanced off Summer’s back, causing the girl to react in surprise. Almost immediately, the heat spiked, the snow melting in a radius around her. Summer looked at Yang, a bit of panic rearing its head in her eyes.

“Give it a try,” her mentor said, nodding encouragingly, “think of your sister.”

Ignoring the memories the suggestion dragged up, Yang watched as Summer’s eyes closed again. The heat fell slowly, until the frigid air returned. Eyes opened once more, back to their normal colour, looking at Yang.

“Good job,” Yang called, “now try engaging it again. Keep thinking of Autumn, if it helps.”

Summer complied, face furrowing in concentration. The warmth of her semblance spread once more – and for the first time following a loss of control, it was steady as it grew, a pulse of heat that warmed Yang’s cheeks. It faded away a moment after, their breaths returning to steam.

Summer’s face split into a grin – she knew what she’d accomplished. Yang walked towards her student, reaching out and ruffling her hair when she got close enough. Summer sputtered, trying to stop her mentor’s attack, before eyeing her dangerously and tackling Yang to the snowy ground.

“Hey!”

The pair wrestled in a snow for a moment, age lost in the frenzy of attack and defense. Yang continued to ruffle Summer’s hair, while the younger girl tried to poke her cheeks repeatedly. When the threat of an eye being poked became apparent, Scarla called out to them amongst her laughter.

“Alright you two, cut it out.”

“Yeah,” came the words of the youngest member there, “you wouldn’t want to break her hip, right Summer?”

Stunned silence met the remark. Scarla was staring at her daughter, trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. Summer and Yang were staring at Autumn as well, faces frozen in shock, mouths hanging open. The silence lasted all for a second or two, before the three reacted.

“YES!” Summer cried, disentangling herself from Yang and throwing her arms into the air in triumph.

Scarla burst into laughter as Yang groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

“Oh, dust,” she muttered amidst Summer and Scarla’s howls, “there’s two of them.”

The laughter died down as Yang stood back up, now covered in snow. She traded places with Autumn, the young girl racing down to meet her sister. Yang came up to stand beside Scarla, who was wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes. It appeared that for all her attempts at being serious, Scarla was the original owner of Summer’s sense of humour.

Down in the yard, Autumn was fawning over her sister’s success, causing the older girl to blush slightly. Yang and Scarla watched them for a moment, before the latter struck up a conversation again.

“Thank you,” she said, “for helping us so much.”

“You were the one who thought of Autumn,” Yang replied, shrugging, “all I did was remember how I used to calm down.”

Scarla shook her head.

“No, I mean for much more than just today,” she said, meeting the glance Yang sent her way, “I know I was… abrasive towards you when we first met, but you’ve helped Summer so much since then, and I can’t express how grateful I am to you for it. And especially for Autumn, who has been worried for her sister ever since her semblance started up.”

Yang pursed her lips at this.

“I can’t take credit for all of this, really,” she said, “Summer’s a good student, even if she does make far too many jokes about my age.”

“And your hip,” Scarla added, giggling.

Yang shot her a withering look before continuing.

“But I was surprised to hear she had a sister. Summer’s never mentioned her before.”

“Really? That’s odd.”

Intrigued by the tone of surprise in her voice, Yang turned to fully face Scarla.

“Summer rarely misses a chance to talk about Autumn. They’ve been so close ever since they met, and they’re almost inseparable now.”

Yang took a moment to wonder if, somehow, Summer had clued into the fact she’d once had a sister of her own, and known to stay away from the topic. That brief thought was pushed away, however, when she caught on to the rest of the woman’s words.

“Ever since they met?”

“Autumn’s adopted,” Scarla said, looking slightly uncomfortable, “We tried for another child, but… eventually, we decided to look into adoption. Summer and Autumn connected well from the start.”

That answered the Faunus question, Yang mused to herself.

“Something to do with the names, perhaps?”

Scarla rolled her eyes, clearly having heard the joke before.

“It’s a good a guess as any,” she said, “but we’re just glad they’re so close, especially with the age gap.”

“How far apart are they?”

“Two years.”

Yang froze.

Her eyes fell back on the girls playing as she struggled to hold the memories at bay. Later, she’d think about how it felt like the universe was playing a trick on her, as only fate could make it so that she’d end up teaching a girl whose life rivaled her own. A two year gap between the sisters, the same as a pair from many generations ago.

Scarla was watching her cautiously, seeming to have sensed that her words had brought up something within the elderly woman. She cleared her throat softly, then wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly.

“Well,” she said, “I think I’ll retreat back inside, where my _warm_ tea is waiting for me.”

With that, she excused herself, ducking into the house and leaving Yang to her memories. Summer and Autumn’s laughs echoed through the air as the pair returned to playing in the snow.

No matter how she looked at them, all Yang could see was herself and Ruby. The fact they weren’t full sisters had only made the connection deeper, and the age gap had driven the point home. It was like looking into a window of the past – an older and younger sister, two years apart, sharing the same parent, not connected fully by blood, but inseparable nonetheless.

For a minute or two, Yang just watched the pair, letting the flashes of memories flow through her. Eventually, she pulled away, heart aching with nostalgia and loss, and followed Scarla back into the house.

* * *

 

Summer’s training was easier after that. Gone was the immense barrier they’d both been staring down; Yang’s suggestion to think of Autumn had almost completely given Summer control over her semblance. True, there were times in which Summer still slipped up, but Yang couldn’t really blame her – after all, she’d had bouts of losing control all the way up into Beacon, and even several times past then.

But to say Summer was doing better was an understatement; already the young girl was excelling in rising and lowering the temperatures of her semblance, Yang’s efforts to disturb her often turning out to be fruitless. The days grew easier, laughter appearing more often than frustration.

“Ahh,” Yang said, reclining back on the swing she sat in.

Summer sat beside her, swinging gently from side to side, the pair taking a break from training. Yang cast a glance towards the playground, where mounds of snow lay half melting, small rubber balls scattered amongst them.

“Someone’s going to have to clean those up,” she remarked.

“Not it,” Summer countered immediately, not even sparing her mentor a glance.

Yang glared at her darkly before an idea sprang to mind.

“Oh no…” she said softly, prompting Summer to glance at her in confusion, “Age suddenly kicking in… Body growing weak… Can’t seem to stand…”

She threw her arm against her forehead dramatically to emphasize her point, glancing at Summer. The girl looked evidently unamused, well used to Yang’s antics at this point. She sighed, rolling her eyes, before she stood up.

“Fine, fine,” she growled, “Leave it to the kid.”

“That’s what I keep you around for!”

“Are you sure I’m not just here to stoke your ego?”

“With all the jokes you make about my age, the _last_ thing you’re stoking is my ego.”

Summer laughed, wandering off to collect the balls. Yang watched her for a moment, letting her mind jump from thought to though aimlessly. Then something occurred to her, something she hadn’t touched upon since she’d first met Summer.

“Hey, Summer.”

The girl stopped in her actions, looking at her teacher questioningly.

“Why do you fight the bullies?”

Summer frowned, her young face furrowed.

“So they leave me alone, of course.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Yang interrupted, shaking her head, “Your mother told me you got bullied at school before you moved, but no one had ever really bothered you here. You’re the one who tends to start the actual fights.”

Summer looked down, her expression a mix between shame and anger.

“I know that they’re bullies,” she said, “even if they don’t pick on me, they do it to other kids in my class.”

“So you fight them for the other kids?”

Summer shook her head.

“I stand up to the bullies for the other kids, but I don’t fight with them for it.”

“Then… why?”

There was a pause before Summer looked up at Yang, honesty shining in her eyes.

“So that they leave Autumn alone.”

Yang was taken aback from the response; she’d suspected it had something to do with her sister, but to hear it put so bluntly was something else.

“So they pick on Autumn?”

“No,” Summer replied, putting an expression of confusion on Yang’s face, “but they might, once she goes to school around them.”

She shuffled her feet, looking the ground.

“I fight the bullies so that they’ll be afraid of me, and that way, they won’t dare to pick on Autumn.”

There was silence, which was broken by Yang’s exasperated sigh.

“Oh, you idiot.”

Summer looked up, her expression indignant, ready to defend herself. Yang didn’t give her the chance.

“I don’t mean for wanting to protect your sister,” Yang clarified, “but the way you’re doing it makes you an idiot.”

She got up slowly, walking over towards where the young girl stood.

“Summer, you’ll face bullies all your life. No matter where you are, you’ll find them. It might not be right, but that’s how things are sometimes.”

She thought back on her own life – the bullies back in Patch, Cardin Winchester, and how they’d all eventually grown up to be somewhat respectable people.

“It’s okay to stand up to them, and to protect other people from them. But physically fighting them won’t solve anything.”

Yang held up a hand as Summer began to protest, cutting her off.

“I know you think that by fighting them now, you’ll make them afraid of you, and therefore afraid to go after Autumn as a result. But believe me, all that will do is make things worse for Autumn. And I know, because I did the same for my sister.”

Summer was listening intently now.

“Back in Patch, where I grew up, my sister constantly got picked on by older bullies. I used to go off and fight them a lot – and while that eventually got them to stop, it also made people afraid of my sister as well. See, because they were afraid of me, they left my sister alone – but they were also afraid to try and make friends with her as well. And because she was shy as a kid…”

Yang’s voice trailed off, before she swallowed and finished the sentence.

“It made it hard for her to make friends.”

She paused, knowing her words were sinking in for the girl in front of her.

“I’m not saying don’t stand up to the bullies; just don’t fight them simply for the sake of protecting your sister. It might just end up making things worse. Understand what I’m saying?”

Summer nodded, before her wide eyes travelled up to focus on Yang’s face.

“Did your sister make friends in the end?”

“Well, eventually,” Yang said, nodding, “but it took her a long time, and a giant handmade scythe, to do so.”

She smiled at the dumbfounded expression on Summer’s face.

“Keep protecting your sister, kiddo,” Yang finished, “but don’t make other people afraid of you both in the process, alright?”

Summer nodded, her smile returning to her face.

“Of course,” she said sincerely, “I’d do anything for my little sis!”

Their conversation took a different turn after that, falling into small talk and teasing, and eventually they returned to training, before calling it quits and heading home. Summer waved goodbye at the crossroads as per usual, before turning and running home, not concerned in the least by the ice on the sidewalks.

Yang watched her go, an odd realization creeping up on her. In the months that had passed, Yang had found all of her teammates and friends in Summer. Her laugh and smile, the way she held herself, the mannerisms when she talked, the expressions she wore – it was like seeing an amalgamation of the traits of those she’d once known. She’d grown used to it by now, the brief appearances of her friends now welcoming, instead of startling. But despite her friends appearing often, Yang had never been able to place who it was Summer reminded her of the most.

Now, however, she knew. In fact, she suspected she’d known all along, and had just refused to admit it to herself. Summer, in all her childish glory, reminded Yang of one person – herself.

Having realized it, Yang now found it impossible to ignore. She found herself in Summer the same way one finds themselves in a mirror, albeit much younger and more energetic. They’d always had the similarity of their semblance, but Yang now found that they shared so much more than that – their similarities extended into their personalities and actions.

She realized suddenly why she’d noticed elements of her friends in herself as well – with Summer practically a mirror image of her, the same characteristics the young girl shared with her former friends were easily apparent in Yang herself. It was both startling and warming to find that after all these years, the personalities of her previous partner and friends lived on.

But what startled Yang the most was just _how much_ Summer was like her, in almost every way. While their appearances weren’t very similar – aside from the red eyes their semblances brought on – their mannerisms were, in the ways they laughed and talked, their senses of humour, their expressions and tones of voice. Heck, even Yang’s love for puns was evident in Summer, a fact that would surely have made Weiss leave the city, if not Vale entirely.

And, of course, there was the characteristic they shared that made Yang hurt the most. Just like her mentor, Summer had shown a side that was all too familiar – the need to protect those important to her. It was strongest when she was around Autumn, and the very fact she’d striven to fight others in order to keep her sister safe proved it entirely. But Yang had also gathered the same protectiveness when she spoke of her parents, and even a couple of other names that had once in a while punctuated their conversations.

Yang knew it all too well. For her entire life, the brawler had striven to look after those who mattered the most to her – initially just her family, her sister, but that had eventually spread to her closest friends – and had succeeded. Everyone else was gone now, Yang’s promise to protect them as long as she could standing true. And now, seeing Summer follow the same path was a familiarity that hurt as much as it made her proud.

Yang shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that were causing her to stand still in the street. She started to make her way home, briefly debating visiting Junior on her way, as she hadn’t seen him for a while now. While her thoughts drifted, one lingered in the back of her mind – a promise she had made long, long ago, and one she had kept until the bitter end.

A promise made on a birthday gift, wrapped by a mother no longer around. A promise that would keep her going, even when she had doubts about her own walks in life. A promise that would spread to others, but never stray from the first person it was made upon. A promise that had been fulfilled long ago, and now had been passed on to a younger generation, and that would live on for years after.

A promise to protect her sister, the source of her smile, with everything she had. 

* * *

 

 _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is eighty-two._ The day is winding to its end, the sun having recently set behind the horizon. Dust pools in the corners of countertops and room floors, some of it catching light from the last vestiges of the evening light. The house is quiet, the way it often is now, the day’s visitors having left long ago. The only sounds come from the usual creaking the house has to offer – the vent’s soft sighs, the stairs’ occasional groans, the rattle of the windowpanes – and the movements of one lone, elderly woman, upstairs.

Yang shuffles through her room, cleaning out the closet that has been avoided being sorted since she first moved in, going through dresser draws, finding things she’d thought she’d long lost. A pile of things to give away sits on the corner of her bed, clothes that no longer fit and items she no longer uses. In the pile sits her hairdryer, its yellow shell slightly cracked and the paint peeling from years of use. She hadn’t used it much in the past, finding her semblance a much quicker and cheaper way to dry her hair, unless she actually wanted to style it somehow. Now, she doesn’t find much need for it at all, as her hair dries quickly enough on its own.

The short strands of grey mixed with the barest hints of gold curl around the edges of her face as she cleans – she reaches up to brush it back, once again forgetting that the length that hung over her shoulders for decades is no more. Old habits die hard, unlike the people who seem to slip away so quickly.

Weiss had nearly had a heart attack when she’d come to visit the first time after it happened; the heiress had in fact dropped the things she’d been carrying the moment she’d seen the former brawler. The sound of breaking glass was lost in Weiss’s gasp, the sight drawing a rarely heard sound from within. The rough, choppy edges of her hair had stuck out unevenly, the rest of the length detached with a pair of kitchen scissors Yang had found in a drawer somewhere.

Weiss, on her part, had recovered well; within minutes she had shooed Yang to a seat at the kitchen table, picking up the abandoned scissors to try and salvage at least some of the remaining locks. Her hair had grown out slightly since then, but neither Weiss nor Pyrrha had ever gotten used to the sight of a short-haired Yang – and to tell the truth, the brawler had never quite gotten used to it herself. But she’d never regretted it, as she’d once told Weiss. When the heiress had asked just what had possessed her to cut off almost all her hair, Yang’s answer had been quiet, almost too soft to hear.

“It was just another reminder.”

Weiss never asked again after that. In fact, she hadn’t mentioned her lost partner, Yang’s lost sister, again – at least, until today. Weiss and Pyrrha had come to visit for lunch, bringing with them gifts. Weiss had given her a box of tea as well, once again remarking on the fact that the overdose of coffee would stop the brawler’s heart in her chest (it wouldn’t be until years later that Yang would remember this and laugh; it appeared that for all their comments on the matter, tea had taken Blake and Weiss to the grave long before coffee ever would for Yang).

Along with their gifts came a third – a simple, white box, held together by a deep red ribbon. Weiss had handed it to Yang with trembling hands just before they left, almost all words gone but the ones she muttered with a shaking voice.

“From Ruby.”

Then they’d left, leaving the former brawler to her current activity – which was, in fact, cleaning everything before she’d have to sit down and eventually face the gift. But for now, she is content to dig through her belongings, roughly parting with things in a fit of avoidance and heartache.

A photo frame clanks against the second pile on her bed – it’s made up of memories from Patch, Beacon, and beyond, photos of times gone by. Framed certificates and newspaper articles from their days of fame lie there too, caught between images of family and friends.

As the last bits of light wink behind the city skyline, Yang finally straightens up, wincing at the cracks in her back. She throws a glance to the piles on her bed, then retreats into the hallway, returning a minute later with a large, empty box. In it she places the photos and framed achievements, gently settling them in to prevent the glass from breaking. She pauses on the second last photo – in it are her team, smiling and laughing, still young in their Beacon years. She can’t place the date exactly, but Weiss is trying to fight off a smile, so it has to be in their last year. Weiss really only struggled with hiding her true feelings then.

Yang sighs, placing it on the dresser beside her. While everything else can be hidden away from view, this photograph seems almost as if it is impossible to hide away, as though her teammates’ smiles must be shown. She shrugs in resignation; after all, this could simply be hidden on a shelf, somewhere she wouldn’t have to look at it frequently. Of course, this ends up not being the case, but Yang doesn’t know that quite yet.

Issue temporarily placated, Yang turns her attention back to the final picture of the pile. It’s a simple frame, a dark mahogany wood, but the picture inside brings on anything but simple emotions. There in front of her sits Ruby, smiling in all her three-year-old glory, perched on the lap of someone Yang hasn’t seen for almost all of her life. The first Summer she came to know, the mother who raised her, smiles gently up at Yang from the photograph, not faded despite its age. The picture had, in fact, never seen the light of day – Yang had kept it hidden in her drawers no matter where she’d been, as it hurt too much to leave it on display all the time. Instead it had lingered amongst clothes, only surfacing when Yang dug through a drawer too quickly, spiking emotions like a beat on a heart rate monitor.

But now, the picture sits out in the open. Yang doesn’t know if she has the heart to hide it away again – and yet, simply having it sit there, she feels enough pain already. As she studies the picture, her thoughts drifting, her focus wanders too – to a simple white box perched on the end of her bed, tied with a deep red ribbon.

Yang swallows, still not ready to open it. But at the same time, she know she never truly will be, in the same way she’ll never truly be able to hide the photograph away and forget about it completely. And so, with trembling hands, the woman reaches out and collects the gift from its position, sinking softly onto her bed as she does so.

Her hands shake as she undoes the ribbon – it takes several ties to undo the knot fully. Then, with a slow and steady gesture despite the tremors that flow from her fingertips, Yang pulls the ribbon away completely, leaving in her lap the white box by itself. She breathes deeply – not that it does much to help the way her heart is pounding – before reaching out tentatively, and slowly lifting the lid from the back.

Red.

That’s the first thing that fills Yang’s vision – then her breath hitches, as she realizes what it is. Her eyes find the note tucked into the folds next, reading it once, twice, and many times more until the tears in her eyes blur the letters away completely. She cries silently as her hands reach down, pulling the item from the box.

Red folds spill from her hands, over the edges of the box, across her lap. A hood falls back, the lapels clenched in her shaking hands. Neat seams hem the edges, and rough, unsteady stitching crosses through the middle, signs of repair from years gone by. The colour is still as rich as ever, the deep red of roses, never having faded despite being worn for decades on end. The cloth is worn, but still soft as it cascades over Yang’s scarred knuckles, like a pair of warm hands holding her own tight.

Yang doesn’t make a sound, her sobs too strong to even make noise, her tears silent as they stream down weathered skin. She hunches over then, shoulders shaking silently as she brings the fabric to her face, her tears freely staining the red cloth.

That’s how Yang will sit for a long time, even after her tears slow and her head aches from crying. All the while, Ruby and Summer will smile up at her from the photograph, as though trying to comfort her. But for now she won’t even look at them, her face shadowed by her short hair, the room growing continually darker.

Yang will continue to cry into Ruby’s cloak, the fabric growing darker from her tears, the deep red mixing with the strands of grey and gold. Beside the patched, worn red cloak, the note will sit, abandoned. A simple white piece of paper, the scratchy penmanship evident of her sister, the small amount of words written there serving as Ruby’s final message to Yang.

_“It wasn’t your fault, I promise._

_I was just protecting my big sister, like she always did for me.”_

Shattered sobs will appear later, but for now there is only silence.

A silence shared by a woman who has lost more than she’ll ever be able to replace, and her sister’s last, final gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.
> 
> To be fair, this will probably be the worst chapter (though I'm not going to promise that). To those who have been waiting for an update - sorry this took so long! I am almost done school now, though, so this fic should be finished within the month. Feel free to pester me on my tumblr if I don't. In any case, enjoy the chapter (if reading this does count as enjoyment).


	4. Spring

_Today is Weiss’s birthday. She is thirty-seven._ The room around them is lively, loud, and filled with friends – a situation uncommon for the grand hall of the Schnee Dust Company. The enormous room, built with glass and white marble – it isn’t very hard to see where Weiss inherited her colour scheme from – is filled to the brim with people, all milling about in expensive clothes and accessories, making polite small talk amongst one another. Well, everyone, that is, except for a small group standing nearby the buffet table.

A group that sticks out like a sore thumb, worn clothing and polished weapons mismatched against the typical suits and leather handbags. They are, of course, the Beacon graduates – all of whom are aware they aren’t really supposed to be there, but Weiss insisted upon it, so here they are. They ignore the strange looks sent their way, and do their best to answer the odd questions directed towards them – although, most people started ignoring them altogether once Nora and Yang began answering them with painfully pretend posh accents.

Speaking of the lively redhead, Nora is a frequent customer at the buffet table – she has made it her own personal mission to see how many Schnee delicacies she can stuff in her mouth at once. Judging by the horrified looks the crowd around her isn’t even attempting to cover up anymore, it’s quite a few. The man who would usually be keeping her from offending the higher class is nowhere to be found near his partner, the young man instead bonding with his team leader. Weiss had given Ren specific instructions not to try and reign in Nora during the event – her words had been something along the lines of ‘the more traumatic, the better.’

While Nora gives her best impersonation of a meat grinder with the small hors d’ouevres from a circulating waiter’s plate, Ren and Jaune talk quietly off to the side, bonding in the same awkward ways they have since Beacon. It’s mostly Jaune who talks, the team leader keeping the conversation flowing as Ren nods his head to his statements. Jaune’s appearance never fails to startle Yang – the clumsy young man from their school years had faded, baby fat replaced by lean muscle, soft features replaced by harder ones. It had been the addition of the stubble and thin beard that had been the tipping point of their teasing – the kiddish nicknames had turned to older ones, with ‘Grandpa Arc’ being the main one. His hair starting to turn gray early didn’t help Jaune’s case any.

Regardless, the man had become a reliable, strong hunter, leading his team to many victories. Alongside Pyrrha, the living legend, and Ren and Nora – who had picked up fame of their own, as well – Jaune and his teammates had become one of Beacon’s most well-known teams. The four stand beside several other faces, Pyrrha sharing an animated conversation with one of them. Velvet had agreed to come to the event, having – somehow – become close friends with Weiss during their time at Beacon. No one mentions their huntressing careers to the woman, not daring to dredge up painful memories for her. Velvet, for her part, seems to appreciate the gesture – though there really isn’t much anyone can do to fill the gap the rest of her team usually occupied.

Beside the redhead and rabbit Faunus stands the loudest group of all – two Faunus and three humans, the lines on their faces the only indication that they have aged at all since their Beacon years. Yang and Sun laugh the loudest, their grins bright enough to live up to their namesakes. Ruby and Blake stand beside them, conversing with Neptune, whose hair is still the radiant blue it was years ago. Their laughter mingles with the muted conversations around them, cutting through the room and turning several heads towards them. Their conversation falls into its usual banter, mocking each other playfully as their eyes twinkle with mirth.

All of their appearances have changed – younger outfits exchanged for older, more practical ones, though several elements hadn’t changed. Fingerless gloves are still a common sight, as are the infamous asscapes – even Neptune kept his ‘nerdy’ goggles, as Sun had dubbed him. The monkey Faunus still hated wearing his shirt done up, though Weiss had threatened to shove her rapier down his throat if he didn’t for this specific event. But while their outfits had changed, their laughter had not, and neither had their personalities. Laughter lines were evident in several of their faces, taking stock of their jovial lives. This will not remain forever, but they don’t know that quite yet.

There is a clanking sound from across the room, the unmistakeable sound of a door being opened. Heads turn to face the doorway, and seconds later the heavy wooden door opens, the final member of team RWBY striding through. Weiss Schnee’s presence changes the room immediately, people stepping aside as the woman strides purposefully through the gathered crowd, towards her friends gathered awkwardly beside the food tables.

Out of all of them, Weiss still looks the youngest – her face hasn’t taken on lines or signs of age, a fact Yang justifies through the explanation that ‘age wouldn’t dare challenge the great Weiss Schnee.’ Of course, the blonde doesn’t hesitate to also point out that her young features, combined with her short stature, would allow her to still pass as a student in Beacon (this joke often ends with Yang frozen to the ceiling).

Any doubt of Weiss’s age, however, is lost in the way she holds herself. Shoulders squared and head held high, the white-themed woman walks with purpose and might, power radiating from every step. For all her protests against the nickname, Weiss had grown into the title of ‘ice queen,’ particularly the latter bit. And while that might scare the pants off of the stray politician that attempts to challenge her, her teammates have had many years to grow up alongside the woman and get used to her antics, as well as the fact that underneath, Weiss Schnee is just as dorky as the rest of them.

And so, as the crowd shrinks away from Weiss as she passes through them like Moses through the Red Sea, the group of huntresses and huntsman move to meet her. Ruby races forwards, her semblance kicking off in a burst of rose petals. The redhead crashes into her partner, who was expecting the tackle of a hug, only stumbling slightly in her heels. Yang and Blake are just as thrilled as they move to greet their friend, though they don’t race around in rose petals the same. As Velvet and the rest join the group, Weiss straightens, Ruby letting go of her and backing away.

There is silence for a moment, the group staring at Weiss, before Ruby tentatively breaks the quiet.

“Is it finished?”

A pause, before Weiss smiles softly and nods in reply. Ruby squeals, laughing and launching at her partner again, hugging her even tighter than before. A second later Nora does the same, nearly knocking the white-haired woman over in her happiness. Yang lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and Blake beside her grins up at the blonde, relief clear on her face as well. The rest of them offer up their congratulations, smiling and laughing as they crowd around.

They draw the attention of the other guests, curiousity and confusion crossing the faces of those around them as they laugh and cheer. None of them care, continuing to make noise in celebration. Someone clears his throat loudly nearby, throwing them a dark glance. Yang catches his eye, and maintains the contact for a moment, before turning and lightly pushing Blake towards their teammates. Ruby still hasn’t let go of Weiss, though Nora has backed away, talking excitedly to Ren.

The dark-haired Faunus, her ears dutifully done up in a familiar black ribbon – something Yang hasn’t seen her do for a while – stumbles slightly, then shoots her blonde partner a glare before moving the remaining steps towards the red and white duo. Weiss catches her eye as she nears, disentangling an arm from Ruby’s embrace to stretch towards Blake. The Faunus accepts it with a warm smile, before she is suddenly yanked into the hug as well – both women ignore her sputters of protest, Ruby reaching out an arm to pull her even closer.

Yang’s laughter echoes off the walls, and the blonde herself steps forwards to join the mass of limbs her teammates has become. Strong, sturdy arms wrap around the three people she holds dearest to her heart, and for a moment, time is suspended.

It doesn’t last for long. A minute later, the crash of the doors resounds through the room, signaling the entrance of another Schnee. Weiss’s father strides through the doors, his presence even more overbearing than his eldest daughter’s. The crowd instantly quiets, and even the group of Beacon graduates fall silent at his entrance. The man walks without a word to the front of the room, where a podium sits erected, waiting for him. Behind him trails Weiss’s younger sister, Winter Schnee, her poise just as elegant as her elder sibling.

The leader of Remnant’s largest corporation begins to speak, his voice clear and sharp in the quiet of the room. There is no need for a microphone – his words carry through the air with the same power he walks with, reaching to those standing in the furthest corners of the hall.

“As of three minutes ago,” he announces, “Weiss Schnee signed off her inheritance to the Schnee Dust Corporation, severing any ties from the company and forfeiting the president’s position.”

He paused to gesture to his younger daughter, who stood behind him in silence.

“Her sister, Winter Schnee, will be stepping forwards in her place.”

He glanced towards the back of the room, his eyes falling on the young woman surrounded by her friends, held by the partner she’d stuck with for many years.

“Weiss is no longer the inheritor of the Schnee Dust Company.”

He stepped away then, signifying the end of his announcment. Immediately, the guests of the room swarmed around him and Winter, offering congratulations and handshakes. Attention drawn away from the group in the back, the Beacon graduates offer more words of their own, their laughter and congratulations kept amongst themselves.

Weiss, for her part, looks relieved, the final tie to her family’s legacy severed at last. Ruby looks thrilled – her partner is finally only obligated to her huntressing career, eridacating the rules they’d had to work around for years. Blake and Yang are much the same, the latter watching the former heiress carefully, taking stock of her reactions.

“Wait a minute.”

They all turn to Nora, whose hands and mouth are filled with Schnee delicacies, her face horror-stricken by a sudden thought. At Ren’s meaningful glance, the redhead chews and swallows before speaking.

“If you no longer have any ties to the SDC,” she questions fearfully, glancing down at the snacks in her hands before staring back up at Weiss, “Does this mean I can’t eat these anymore?”

The laughter at Nora’s comment is almost loud enough to pull the guests’ attention back to them. Amongst giggles and snorts (mainly the latter from Neptune), Yang feels a weight lift from her shoulders – a weight she’d been waiting to feel lift for many years. Because in that room, filled with snobbish upper class folk, and the friends she’d fought alongside for years, Yang finally sees the last of the ice queen’s façade melt away.

In the room, laughing at Nora’s worry and the comments that arose from it, standing alongside her partner and teammates, Weiss smiles. It is a smile different from the rest, one free of worry and stress, free of the obligations she’d been dealing with all her life. It is a smile of pure, unrestricted happiness, of true emotion.

It’s there, surrounded by friends and family, that Yang sees Weiss smile fully, freely, for the first time.

* * *

 

Summer had learned to form flames. They were small, little wisps that tickled her skin and flickered at her fingertips, but they were tangible nonetheless. The young girl was thrilled with them, laughing as she summoned them up, letting them dance across her palms. It had taken her a long time to get to that point, but over the span of two seasons, Summer had come a long way.

The temperature issue was now well under control, alongside the triggers – and while she’d never admit it aloud to the young girl; Yang was impressed by her student’s progress. Going from instant engagement of one’s semblance to having it controlled to the point of tangible signs was no small feat for anyone, least of all a girl whose semblance shouldn’t have been engaged for a long while yet.

For Yang, the flames held more meaning than just a visible representation of progress – they were also a sign. A sign that meant that once the flames were under control, able to be summoned and extinguished at will, Summer would only have one lesson remaining. And after that, her training with Yang would be over.

But before that came, something had to be said: a lesson that was taught to everyone with an active semblance, that Yang learned young, and Ruby learned later, and that Summer had to learn now. And so, on one spring afternoon as Summer let flames chase one another across her open palms – the heat not doing much to help the already melting snow – Yang decided to teach it to her.

“Hey, Summer,” she called from her perch on the swings, a seat that she had become well accustomed to over the past months. The playground they had first met in had been their training ground, aside from the odd occasions in one another’s homes.

The young girl perked up at the sound of her name, glancing to her mentor in curiosity. Yang jerked her head slightly, signaling her to come sit with her. Summer shook her hands rapidly to extinguish the flames – she didn’t quite yet have complete control over her flames, and as such had no other way to get rid of them. Still flailing her arms, the girl bounded over towards the elderly woman, who rolled her eyes at the antics she was well acquainted with.

Summer took a leap as she neared the swings, landing on the one beside Yang and swinging wildly back and forth for a moment before she grinned up at her.

“Yeah, Yang?” she asked, turning to sit properly on the swing.

Yang wasn’t quite sure when they’d changed to a first name basis – over the past couple of months, the nicknames of ‘kiddo’ and ‘grandma’ had gradually faded away in use, replaced by their actual names. There were, of course, times that the nicknames resurfaced with a vengeance – especially when Summer made an age related joke – but for the most part, they stuck to the names others called them.

For Yang, she wasn’t sure if it was a great thing – while she appreciated not being called ‘Grandma,’ she wasn’t entirely on board with the fact Summer had gotten so close to her. It was nice to be on the same length as someone again, even if they were her age divided by ten, but it wasn’t what she’d intended for when she’d first offered her help all those months ago.

Yang shook her head from her thoughts at a poke from Summer – the girl had grown impatient with her silence, waiting for the reason Yang had called her over in the first place. She glanced down at Summer, who looked up at her expectantly.

“You know fire can hurt people, right?” Yang began, raising an eyebrow with her question.

Summer’s expression turned to one of annoyance, her eyes narrowing and her mouth crinkling in displeasure.

“Of course I do!” she replied, glaring at Yang indignantly, apparently offended that she’d been asked something so obvious.

“And that _your_ flames can hurt people? Especially those around you?”

At this, Summer looked both thoughtful and offended, but she nodded before speaking again.

“Of course I know that,” she repeated, though much less hurt than before, “what are you getting at?”

Yang smiled, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“I don’t mean anything bad by it,” she clarified, “It’s just something that’s told to everyone with an active semblance, when they’re first learning how to control it.”

“That their semblance can hurt people?”

“Exactly.”

Yang paused, looking at the melting snow before speaking again.

“Everyone’s semblances do different things. And while some are similar, like how both of ours involve flame, it’s hard to find two that are exactly the same. We’re all kind of like snowflakes, in that manner.”

“No two are alike!” Summer interjected, having caught on easily, “my mom taught Autumn and I that. We made a whole bunch of paper snowflakes one day.”

Yang smiled at the comment, remembering the time her teammates had decorated their dorm room with their own snowflakes, cut in the shape of Weiss’s insignia – that had been the first time they’d celebrated the heiress’ birthday.

“Just like snowflakes,” she continued, “no two look the same – and no two semblances do the same things, either. Because of that, some people can hurt others easier, which is why I’m telling you this.”

“My sister’s semblance was based off of speed. She could move really quickly, and scattered rose petals around whenever she engaged it – and while she could use it to harm people if she wanted to, it wasn’t a semblance that was necessarily always harmful. Lots of people are like that – they aren’t a danger unless they choose to be. But people like us? We’re a little different.”

Yang glanced down at her hands, summoning up sparks to dance across her fingertips.

“Fire is often an element of harm,” she said, Summer listening intently, “so we have to be extra careful with it. When I was first learning to control my semblance, I almost lit my house on fire – and while it was scary, it also taught me the importance of making sure I didn’t use my semblance to harm others. I kept it under control, and even used it to help people sometimes.”

“How?” Summer asked at the last word, looking confused. Yang smiled warmly at her.

“Fire is dangerous,” she explained softly, “but it also provides warmth, and light. You’ll find you can always be a source of light in the darkness, literally – and can warm up the space around you in the coldest of places.”

She paused, caught on a memory.

“In fact,” she said, with a impish grin, “people always try to cuddle up next to you on cold winter nights.”

Summer laughed at this.

“Autumn does that!” she exclaimed amongst giggles, “My mom’s always going to wake her up and finding out that she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”

Yang laughed with her, remembering how Ruby and Blake had both done the same, at different times in her life. Weiss had even done it once or twice, though that was probably more due to the fact they didn’t have enough sleeping bags to go around, and had to share on a couple of missions.

“Anyways,” Yang continued, “our semblances can both help and harm people. And that’s why I’m telling you this – so that you know to be careful, and always use your semblance for good. The only things you’re ever allowed to hurt with it are monsters, like Grimm.”

She smiled at Summer, then frowned as an afterthought came to her mind.

“And bad people,” she added.

“Bad people?”

Yang glanced at Summer, who was now looking at her mentor with an expression that vaguely resembled worry. The elderly woman froze, realizing that Summer probably had no idea what she meant – and that Yang wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it. How does one even go about telling a child about the dangers of those who lurk in the alleyways of the city?

“What do you mean?” Summer asked, still looking at Yang in confusion.

“Like… bad guys,” Yang answered lamely, wincing at her own answer.

“Like the ones the cops catch?”

She nodded in reply.

“But if the cops are around, then why do you hurt them instead?”

Yang sighed, knowing she had to explain it a little more fully.

“ _You_ don’t have to,” she said, “But I used to. Part of my job was stopping monsters, but once in a while I also helped to stop bad guys, too.”

“Back when you were a huntress?”

Yang shot a look at Summer in confusion, that having been the last thing she’d expected to hear as a reply.

“How’d you know that?”

“Mom told me,” Summer explained, looking slightly sheepish, “she said you used to be a really strong huntress, which means you used to stop the Grimm and stuff. She told me if I wanted to find out more about it, I could ask you, but…”

Yang raised an eyebrow as the young girl trailed off, waiting for her to finish.

“I wasn’t sure when was a good time to ask,” she continued, “especially not with how you reacted when I went into your remnant room. I just didn’t think you really wanted to talk about it, so I never asked.”

Yang winced – while she was glad she’d explained what the room was to Summer, she hadn’t meant for it to turn the young girl away from being curious.

“Well,” Yang began, Summer looking up at her, “Did you still want to hear about it?”

The expression on Summer’s face was the only answer she needed, the rapid affirmations more of an accompaniment than anything else. Yang sighed, then stood up, stretching as she did so.

“Well then, let’s go to your place,” she said, seeing the look of confusion Summer shot her, “It’s a bit of a long story, and I’m not freezing my ass out here telling it to you. I know it’s spring, but there’s still snow outside, and I’m getting cold.”

She shot a look at Summer.

“And no, it has nothing to do with the ‘chill in my bones,’ before you ask.”

The thwarted look on Summer’s face was satisfaction enough.

* * *

 

Summer’s home was always warm – Yang always had to laugh at that fact, wondering if there was some way it had influenced the eldest daughter into forming a heat-based semblance. That, and it seemed almost ironic that they spent so much on heating, when they had a small child who could do it for them, free of charge. Either way, the chill of the cool spring air dissipated the moment they stepped through the doorway’s threshold, entering the cozy home Yang had become well acquainted with.

“Summer! Yangy!”

The cry bounced off the walls in time with the footsteps that pounded down the hall towards them, Autumn running to greet her sister and the mentor. Yang laughed at her arrival, reaching down to accept the young Faunus’ hug, instead of letting Autumn become well acquainted with her kneecaps. Scarla stepped out of the kitchen into the hall, smiling at the sight.

“Why, hello, Yang!” she said, her face in a wide grin, “I was wondering when we’d see you next!”

“Well, Summer here wanted to hear all about my days of glory,” Yang said, letting go of Autumn and standing back up, “So I figured I might as well do it someplace warm.”

There was a moment of hesitance – Yang stared at Scarla, waiting to see how the younger woman would react to her comment. Sharing her life’s history hadn’t gone over too well before, after all. After a moment, Scarla smiled even wider.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she said, “I’ll go put on some tea.”

That was all the permission Yang needed – the last tangible reason she’d had not to tell Summer about her life was gone, and now all that remained were Yang’s own uncertainties. And while she would have loved to be able to say that she was ready to tell Summer everything, Yang wasn’t quite sure if that were the case.

It had been a long time since she’d told someone about her life – her reasons to discuss the past had died with Pyrrha, and since then she could count on one hand the amount of times someone had asked her to tell them stories of years gone by. Once in a while, Yang would tease Junior with stories, but that was of her own decision – the young man had never asked, not exactly jumping at the chance to hear about his relative’s criminal activity.

But now, Yang had the chance to bring it all back up again. The chance to explain to someone the life she’d once led and left behind, the world that had died with the last of her friends, leaving her behind in one she no longer recognized, and that no longer recognized her. A chance to explain it to someone of a generation far below hers, no less – a girl who could have been her great-granddaughter, if not even further than that.

And doing so meant making the connection between herself and Summer even stronger – something that Yang still wasn’t sure was a good idea or not. She had accepted years ago that she was no longer a part of this world, only there until death finally came for her as well, taking away the last remnant of a time long forgotten. To change that, and build connections in a world she no longer called her own, meant so much more – it meant that she, once again, was trying to live in the present. It meant truly moving on, something Yang had always felt was wrong, as if she was letting go of the people she’d once loved, something she’d always considered a sin of sorts.

And yet, for all her hesitations, there was a pull to do just that. To tell someone of her life, to pass her legacy onto someone else – to tell stories that would remain long after she did. After all, while Yang knew so much about Summer, the young girl hardly knew anything about her – and somewhere from deep within, there as a voice that told her that it had to change. It was as if there was an old wound that had healed long ago, leaving only a scar that remained, and bandages that were supposed to come off a long time ago.

It was this feeling that drove Yang to sit down at the table across from Summer, her hands playing nervously with one another. The young girl seemed ecstatic – her sister did as well, though Autumn probably didn’t really get what was going on. Even Scarla seemed interested, doing a poor job of hiding her curiosity.

There was a moment of silence, Yang staring at the anticipating faces before her – then she reached into her worn leather jacket, rummaging around in the pockets until she finally found what she was looking for. She withdrew her hand, several thin pieces of paper held gently in her grasp. She lay them down on the table, spreading them out and turning them so that Summer could see the images in them clearly.

Faces of her friends and family stood out before her, their smiles frozen in the faded colours of each photograph. Ruby, Blake, Yang, JNPR, Sun and Neptune, Qrow and Tai Yang – the only person missing was Summer, the first one Yang had come to know, nowhere be found.

The younger Summer stared at the photos for a moment, a tentative hand reaching towards them – then she glanced up at Yang nervously, silently asking for permission. Yang nodded wordlessly, the corners of her mouth perking up slightly as Summer eagerly drew the photographs closer. The young girl studied them, taking in the appearances of the people she’d never met, and would never come to know in anything but stories. After several minutes of silent study, Summer smiled and pointed to a laughing blonde in the center photo.

“She’s pretty,” she said, before she startled at Yang’s sudden peal of laughter.

Scarla and Autumn joined their relative in looks of confusion as Yang settled into snickers, clearly in on a joke the rest of them knew nothing about.

“I hope you realize you can’t take that comment back,” Yang began, grinning wickedly at the confused girl before her, “because that pretty girl is _me._ ”

Yang frowned a moment after she said it.

“Well, was.”

Summer’s jaw opened in obvious shock, eyes widening as she looked down hurriedly at the photo again. Her gaze snapped back and forth between Yang in the photograph and the aged Yang that sat before her. Her clear astonishment sent Yang into giggles again, Scarla joining in.

“That’s _you_?!” Summer exclaimed, still in disbelief.

“The one and only,” Yang replied, grinning, “That photo was back in my years at Beacon, where I learned to be a huntress. That’s me and my team.”

Summer turned back to the photo, her finger slowly moving the paper back and forth.

“Do you always carry these photos around with you?”

The question was quiet, almost enough for Yang to miss it. But she didn’t, and instead looked at the girl in wonder, not having expected that kind of question from the girl.

“Well, yeah,” Yang said, caught off guard slightly, “All of those people are gone now, so this is all I have left of them.”

Summer looked up at her sadly – Yang felt her own heart squeeze painfully at the admittance.

“But they were amazing when they were around,” Yang continued reassuringly, before reaching out and pointing to the first photograph. The smiling faces of her father, Ruby, and a very young version of herself grinned back at her – Summer wasn’t anywhere to be found, instead, presumably, taking the photograph herself.

“This was my family,” Yang began, swallowing the lump in her throat, “My dad and me, and my younger sister…”

She couldn’t help the look she gave Autumn, who sat beside Summer, also engrossed in the pictures.

“Ruby.”

Yang shook her head slightly, moving on.

“We didn’t have the same mom, so her last name was different from mine, but we shared our dad. I took his last name, Xiao Long, and she took her mom’s – Rose. Ruby was two years younger than me, and we grew up on Patch, an island a little bit off the coast. For a while, it was just us – my own mom disappeared when I was born, and Ruby’s mom died when she was really little, so my dad raised us both.”

She pointed to the second photo, one that held Qrow and an awkward teenage Ruby, both holding their scythes – Ruby had just made Crescent Rose at the time, her grin revealing how thrilled she was over it.

“My uncle Qrow came around a lot when we were little, and taught us how to fight. Ruby really idolized him a lot, and she learned how to use her weapon from him, a giant scythe. Our dad used to call it the ‘oversized gardening tool.’”

Autumn giggled at this, Summer and Scarla both smiling in amusement.

“We went to a school called Signal, where we first learned how to fight Grimm. Because I was two years older than Ruby, I graduated before her – but that didn’t matter, because right before I was supposed to go off to another school, she ended up going with me. Ruby stopped some pretty mean bad guys from robbing a store, and the headmaster of the school I was going to ended up talking to her and asking her to skip two years and go with me.”

“That’s awesome!”

“It was pretty great,” Yang admitted, looking warmly at the photo again, “I was really proud of her for it.”

She paused, feeling the warm pangs of pride light up inside her again – the entire time they’d fought together, Yang had never stopped being amazed by her sister. Even when they’d both retired, she’d always been proud of Ruby – and it appeared that not even death could stop that.

“Anyways, we ended up in the same year at our next school – a famous school called Beacon. It’s one of the schools that train huntsmen and huntresses – and if you ask me, it’s the best of them all. Not a biased opinion or anything. But when Ruby and I went there, we ended up in the same team – and we both had partners.”

“Them?” Summer asked, pointing to a photo of JNPR. Yang smiled warmly at the mistake, reaching out and taking hold of Summer’s hand, dragging her finger to rest on a different photo, one of her team in its entirety.

“Those two,” she said, “Blake Belladonna and Weiss Schnee.”

“Schnee? Like the big dust company?”

“That’s the one. Weiss was even in line to take over that company, but she changed her mind and became a full-time huntress instead.”

Yang glanced at Autumn, catching the little girl’s eye and pointing to Blake.

“This is Blake, Autumn. She was a Faunus, just like you. She fought for a lot of their rights, and even ended up teaching history at Beacon about all the Faunus rights movements. She was my partner – Weiss was Ruby’s.”

Yang pointed back to the photo of JNPR, then at ones of CFVY and SSSN.

“We had a lot of friends at Beacon,” she said, “These guys were team JNPR – their dorm was across from us at school, so we got to know them really well. Jaune Arc, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, and Pyrrha Nikos.”

“The Pyrrha Nikos?”

“The Pyrrha Nikos,” Yang affirmed with a laugh – it appeared that even the youngest generation knew the fame of her friend, “She was famous even back in her school days. Jaune was her partner – and the leader of their team. The dorky looking boy band was team SSSN. We didn’t know all of them too well, because they were from a different school, but we got to know Sun and Neptune really well – they were always getting caught up in our schemes. And this last group is group CFVY – they were a year above us, but we grew close to them. We knew Velvet the best, the rabbit Faunus.”

She stopped, slightly worn out from the sudden amount of talking. It was a good place to stop – Scarla set down a steaming mug of tea before her a moment later. Yang nodded in appreciation before she took it, blowing on it slightly before she took a sip. Summer continued to study the photos, before she pointed at the one of Yang’s own team again.

“You have a photo of them,” she said simply, “in the front of your house.”

Yang’s breath hitched – she hadn’t realized Summer had clued in on that. She took a moment to reply, setting her mug down as she gathered her thoughts.

“Well, yes… they were my team, after all. I spent most of my life with them.”

Summer hummed thoughtfully, still studying the picture.

“And you fought monsters with them?”

“The Grimm? Yup.”

“Were they big?”

“Most of them, yeah, but a couple types weren’t so large.”

“Were they mean?”

“Their breath certainly was.”

Summer giggled at that. Silence fell again, until she asked one last question.

“Were they scary?”

The words hung in the air, Yang taking her time over how to reply. Deciding that words weren’t really going to cut it, she chose to nod instead.

Summer leaned back, dropping her hands into her lap and staring at them. Knowing when the young girl had something to say, Yang waited patiently. Eventually, Summer spoke, in a voice so quiet the elderly woman almost missed it.

“I’m scared of the Grimm.”

It wasn’t something Yang was surprised to hear – after all, the Grimm were monsters of nightmares, literally created from darkness itself. But regardless, it was still a comment that held a lot of weight, especially from a girl who Yang knew hated admitting her fears aloud. And so, Yang chose not to say anything, instead reaching behind her and untying the belt around her middle.

Summer watched in puzzlement as her teacher slowly untied the white length of fabric around her middle, placing it on the table in front of her. Next to go was the worn black ribbon, wrapped around her bicep. Lastly, Yang reached up and took hold of the red scarf around her neck, hesitating momentarily before she pulled it off and placed it on the table beside the other two fabrics.

Catching Summer’s eye, Yang pointed to each of the fabrics, saying a name aloud as she did so.

“Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Ruby Rose.”

She then pointed to the photo of her team, continuing to talk as she did so.

“My sister, my partner, and one of my closest friends.”

Summer listened intently; Autumn had lost interest a while ago and was now staring off into space, and Scarla stood in the kitchen, though Yang knew her words were carrying across to the woman.

“I fought alongside them for years. We faced so many things together – monsters the sizes of buildings, monsters with fangs, monsters with claws and venom and many other terrible things. We faced scary things that weren’t Grimm, too; parents, discrimination, and once in a while, even one another. We didn’t always see eye to eye at first, so sometimes, we fought amongst ourselves.”

“Myself, along with these three incredible women, saved a lot of people in our lifetimes. We all had different reasons for doing it, but at the end of the day, we worked together to fight monsters. Summer, I’ve fought many, many battles in my lifetime. I fought against people sometimes, but mostly, I fought Grimm. For years on end, I faced off against the monsters of the darkness.”

Yang looked at her pupil, catching her eye and keeping it on her.

“And you know what?”

She paused, before she broke into a wide, warm smile.

“I’m still scared of them.”

Summer looked at her for a good minute, before she returned the smile tentatively. Then Autumn broke the silence, her jovial voice changing the atmosphere completely.

“Me too!”

Summer and Yang both laughed at that, the innocent comment completely eradicating the stress of the previous minutes. Summer looked to the photos, then back at Yang.

“Hey, Yang?”

“Yes, kiddo?”

“Will you tell me more?”

And Yang will. She’ll talk and talk, telling the eager girl before her stories of her lifetime, the days of her prime and even past then. Her tea will go cold long before she finishes talking, and Autumn and Scarla will both wander away to do their own things, interest in old heroic tales eventually forgotten. But Summer won’t – she’ll sit there, listening to Yang in awe, listening to the stories of her mentor’s life, the trials and tasks the brawler went through long before she met her pupil. She’ll hear stories of people she’ll never have the chance to meet, but will listen and respect them just the same. She’ll ask questions occasionally, but for the most part, she’ll just let Yang talk, listening and learning.

And Yang, on her part, will tell the girl everything she wants to hear. She’ll leave some things out, of course – she doesn’t exactly want to traumatize the girl – but for the most part she’ll talk about everything, of the days she shone like the sun. She’ll laugh as she remembers things, move past the heartache, let the worry and guilt go as she teaches another generation of the world that once was, that used to be.

And as she talks, the daylight slipping away as the world turns, afternoon replaced by evening, Yang will start to feel something change. She’ll feel something similar to what she felt before – the sense that her life is an old wound, long healed and scarred, but still wrapped in bandages. But this time, unlike before, it will feel like she is finally taking of the bandages, finally exposing the scar to the world, finally letting things go. And while it does hurt in some ways, pulling away something that had been a part of her for so long, Yang finds it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would – that in some ways, it’s almost cathartic, passing on the stories to the girl who sits before her. And while it still hurts, it’s the sort of pain Yang knows to mean something good – a pain that says it’s okay to let go, that she’ll be okay anyways.

* * *

 

Yang dropped by the Xiong mechanics shop on her way home, the sun having set long before she left Summer’s home. Her stories had carried her far into the evening, only coming to an end when Scarla informed her they would be having dinner soon, and asking her if she’d like to stay. Yang declined politely – she’d taken to eating meals alone, finding the quiet more comfortable in some ways than others. But on her way home she had the sudden thought to swing by the mechanic’s, stopping in to say hello to Junior.

She ducked her head under the heavy garage door, rattling the chains slightly as she did so. It appeared that the garage was empty, the workers having gone home for the evening, even Junior himself. Yang turned to leave, halfway under the garage door before a voice called out to her.

“Well, hey, look who the cat dragged in!”

She swung her head up at the comment, nearly cracking it on the metal door. A tall bear of a man was walking towards her, wiping his hands on a grease streaked rag. She scowled at the approaching man, unamused by his comment.

“You know, there are a lot of Faunus who wouldn’t exactly like that kind of  comment.”

The man smiled sheepishly, lowering his head slightly in lieu of an apology. Yang had made it a point of her to call people out on their discriminatory remarks years ago – and while she knew the man hadn’t meant any offence by his comment, old habits died hard.

“It’s good to see you, Xiao Long. It’s been a while.”

“Sure has, Junior. How’ve you been?”

Junior grimaced at the nickname, though he knew that by now it was pointless to try and deter the elderly woman from calling him by it.

“Not bad, I’d say. Had a couple of large weaponry orders come in lately, so the boys have been keeping busy.”

“That’s good to hear. How are the twins doing?”

“They’re just fine. They love building stuff, by the way. I’m willing to be they’ll have their own weapons made by the time they’re five.”

“Just don’t give them exploding dust. I’ve heard that stuff can lead to accidents.”

“Just a couple of them.”

“Yup.”

They grinned at one another, well accustomed to trading jokes. Yang wasn’t sure if she’d ever get over the fact that the original Junior’s descendant had ended up having twin girls for children – it was eerily reminiscent of the henchmen the original bar owner had once hired.

“Well, I was just stopping by to say hi, since I was in the neighborhood. You look like you’re busy cleaning up the shop for the evening, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“You should stop by some more, Xiao Long. It’s good to have you around, even if you’re just cracking jokes about the past.”

“Aw, Junior, did you miss me?”

“The boys did, not me. They were wondering where their favorite fossil had gone – I think they actually started up a betting pool on what had caused your absence. If I’m not mistaken, the highest bet right now is on death, due to ‘old age.’”

Yang laughed at this.

“Well, you can tell the boys that if any of them guessed ‘teaching’ as the reason, then you’ll give them a raise.”

“Hey, wait a minute, why am I paying for this?”

She clapped a hand on his broad shoulder, grinning wickedly at the man.

“Just call it ‘owed expenses.’”

Junior shot her a glance, suspiciously peering at the elderly woman.

“You know, it seems like an awful lot of things get claimed as ‘owed expenses.’ Did my ancestor really fuck up that badly, or are you just being greedy?”

“You really want to find out? I’ll happily tell you all my stories. I mean, for starters, there was that time he–”

“Alright, geez, I give,” the man said, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. He glanced at Yang, his suspicious expression turning thoughtful.

“So, teaching, huh?” he said, “Gotta admit, never really saw you as the mentoring type.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Yang admitted, “But certain circumstances called for it, so, teaching it is. It’s a little weird though – the kid reminds me of a lot of people I used to know.”

“Doesn’t everyone and everything remind you of what you used to know?”

“Hardy har, Junior. Hilarious.”

She glanced at the clock mounted on the nearby wall, sighing softly.

“Guess I’ll get going. I’ll try and swing by the garage more often, at least to say hi to the boys. See ya round, Junior.”

She walked towards the door, and was about to duck under it when he called to her again.

“Hey, Xiao Long.”

Yang looked up at the sound of his voice, a warm but serious tone on his words.

“I don’t know much about this whole teaching thing, but…. you should keep doing it. You seem, I don’t know, happier? Or, like, sunnier. Kind of living up to your whole namesake or something.”

Yang snorted, before raising a hand in farewell.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’d better,” he said sarcastically, before he returned the gesture, “You just seem to smile more than you used to. It’s nice, I guess. Seems like you’re opening up a lot more – like the whole cold side of you is melting away.”

He laughed then, seemingly reminded of something.

“Which is great,” he continued, “After all, a couple of the boys around here had started calling you ‘ice queen.’”

Yang froze – it had been a long time since she’d heard the nickname, even longer still since she herself had used it. Immediately Weiss returned to mind, and Yang squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the sudden flow of memories that came to her.

“Ice queen, huh?” she said after a moment, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice, “Those assholes.”

Junior laughed, mock saluting her in lieu of a goodbye. Letting that comment be her last, Yang ducked under the heavy metal door, her eyes adjusting to the darkness outside. She stopped just outside the garage, watching the last remnants of colour fade from the evening sky. The hues of red and orange mixed with the glow of the streetlights, reminding Yang of her semblance, or what it used to be.

It had been a long day for memories – first, with Summer and regaling her years in (and, in some ways, as) the sun, then with Junior, and his revival of an old nickname she’d left behind. ‘Ice queen,’ of course, had never been her nickname, but rather Weiss’s, a joke that stuck with them in years beyond Beacon. For the most part, Yang had called her by it for her entire life. And so to hear it, years after Weiss had passed away, addressed to _her_? It wasn’t something Yang had even expected. She’d always been the heat, leaving the cold to Weiss – making the pair literally characterizations of fire and ice.

But the name ice queen hadn’t always referred to Weiss’s fondness for the winter dust, Yang mused, but rather the cold personality the heiress had had since the very beginning. From when they’d first met, Weiss had always been cold and abrasive, her relationships with her teammates tentative at best. But over the years, as the four girls got into even more shenanigans, and their group of troublemakers opened up to let even more in, Weiss too had begun to open up as well. She’d softened in personality, and while she still had the social tact of a sledgehammer when it came to delicate situations, it was undeniable that Weiss had finally begun to melt.

And when that happened, the name ‘ice queen’ slowly became less and less relevant, slipping away until it was only used in Yang’s jokes, never in seriousness. Well, unless Weiss froze people to the ceiling. Then it was serious. But beyond that, the ice queen façade had started to melt away – and only traces of it would remain by the time Weiss reached her end.

Yang thought about this, the air temperature around her falling with the spring evenings, the chill setting in. When the last vestiges of colour had faded from the sky, leaving her with only the faded orange glow of the streetlamps, and the shadows cast from the white light of the shattered moon, Yang finally began to head home, pulling herself from fond memories.

But there was something that remained with her, even as her thoughts drifted from past nicknames to new techniques to teach Summer – the knowledge that the true ‘ice queen’ was the one who hid their emotions away, pulling back from the world and keeping things hidden away. For years, that had been Weiss, of course – but now, Yang realized, it had become her. Junior’s comment hadn’t been far off, after all. In the years since Weiss and Pyrrha had passed, Yang had done her best to let go and move on from the world she once knew, by forcing her memories inside of herself and keeping them locked away. And while she’d always thought of that as the right way to do things, if not the only way, she knew now that all it had done was hurt her, in the same way Weiss had hurt herself by keeping things hidden.

Yang sighed, the sound echoing through the empty street, bouncing off the fronts of the houses that lined the road. It was a lot to think about, a lot to remember, and a lot to come to terms with. After all, she’d been keeping her memories stored away for years now – literally locked in a room, out of sight but never out of mind – and to acknowledge that it had probably been hurting her all along wasn’t the greatest thing to suddenly come to terms with. And yet, despite her hesitancy to admit it, Yang was aware that it was true – that much was clear from her sharing with Summer. It had hurt to remember things, to tell the young girl so many things she’d fought for years to repress, to not remember. But at the same time, it had felt cathartic, and almost even healing.

She could recall the way Summer had awefully reached out to touch the remnants Yang wore of her team, consistently glancing at Yang to make sure it was alright. She’d held the length of Weiss’ belt, as if marveling over the fact that even after years of use, it was still a pristine white. She and Autumn had spoken in excited, muted mutters over Blake’s bow, with the elder sister telling her younger sibling that a ‘Faunus hero’ had once worn it. And even Scarla had held the scrap of Ruby’s cloak, a piece Yang had had left over once she’d sewn it back up, albeit a few inches shorter, marvelling over its softness that still remained after a lifetime of wear.

It had been as if, for a moment, her team was actually still around her – a fleeting feeling, brought on by Summer’s awe and careful handling of each artifact. And when Yang had finally tied them back on, slowly and carefully, as she had for years, Summer had thanked her. It had been a genuine thank you, one Yang heard the sincerity laced deep within – a gratitude for sharing the stories of people Summer would never come to know, but respected all the same.

Yang shook her head, coming up to her front door. She paused for a moment out front of her house, taking a breath before letting it go, as if she could do the same with the stress of the day. Yang shook her head, pushing open the door and striding through it, leaving behind her thoughts and worries on the doorstep, refusing to think about the past any longer, at least for today. But still, at the back of her mind a voice lingered, one that whispered it was time to let go, it was time to move on, it was time for her cold façade to melt away.

Yang ignored it as best she could. She still didn’t feel ready. 

* * *

 

 _Today is Weiss’s birthday. She is eighty-five._ It’s midday, light streaming in fully through the windows. Yet despite the warmth of the noon sun, the snow on the ground outside refuses to melt away, casting the world in an endless blanket of white. Yang teases Weiss every time they go outside, the same way she has since the pair became especially close after Ruby’s injury, telling her to hold the brawler’s hand so as not to become lost in the winter wonderland. Weiss, in her response, casts a glyph behind the former blonde, making it propel her across the icy sidewalks, straight into the tall snowbanks.

Now, though, the pair sits inside Weiss’s home, enjoying the warmth that both Yang and the house’s heating system have to offer. It had always surprised Yang how the inside of the former heiress’ home looked – she never would have guess that Weiss, out of all of them, had the most mismatched interior. Even Yang, with her complete lack of disregard, had more synchronization of the colours in her home. Yet Weiss’s colour scheme of white and blue had been overcome by the many splashes of red thrown about her home, as well as the odd appearances of black and yellow. But it seemed to make Weiss happy, so Yang never really commented on it – more for the fear of having everything of her colour thrown out.

A light tap sounds as Weiss places a cup of tea in front of her teammate, pulling Yang’s attention back to the current scene. The white-haired woman – no one was pleased over the fact that Weiss’s hair colour never changed with age – quirks an eyebrow at her friend, a silent question posed. Yang answers it with a sheepish smile, and a quick answer.

“Sorry,” she says softly, reaching out and pulling her cup towards her, “Just lost in thought.”

“Over?”

“Beacon.”

Weiss smiles against the rim of her own teacup, before placing it down and glancing out the window beside them, as Yang had been doing before.

“It certainly was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” she muses, voice filled with nostalgia, “I haven’t really thought of it for a while.”

“Oh, come on, Weiss,” Yang counters with a laugh, “You and I both know that’s a lie.”

Another eyebrow rises at her comment.

“I mean, we all think about Beacon,” Yang continues, “I do, Pyrrha does – there’s no way you don’t, too. It’s kind of hard to forget about.”

Weiss rolls her eyes, but nods in response.

“Alright, fine,” she says, snarky as ever, “You caught me. Do I owe you a prize for your brilliant detective skills, or do I get away free on this one?”

“A kiss, and we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Xiao Long.”

Yang laughs, the usual response shooting down her joke, one she really only makes out of habit anymore. Over the years, Weiss became something of family to the brawler, and jokes of anything beyond that kind of relationship were really only done to annoy the woman.

“But yes,” Weiss continues, moving their conversation back to the prior topic, “I did think of Beacon recently. I stumbled across one of Blake’s old books – you know how her volumes always seemed to make their way into our own collections.”

“More like you borrowed it from her, and forgot to return it. After all, I’ve never found one of her books in my own personal library.”

“That’s because your personal library is approximately seven books, and half of them are on weapon maintenance. The other half, I presume, are written about hair care.”

“Hilarious, Schnee. But that point aside, I’m pretty sure the book you found wasn’t one of Blake’s historical classics – I’m willing to bet it was a ‘romance novella,’ or whatever fancy term you two used to call your bad fanfiction.”

Yang laughs at the red that rises to Weiss’s cheeks, dodging the sugar cube thrown in her direction.

“Don’t be vulgar,” Weiss growls, picking up her tea in an attempt to disguise the blush.

“Hey, I’m not judging you. I’m just stating the truth.”

There is silence for a moment, a temporary truce from their usually sardonic remarks. While Yang’s comments had never been quite as snarky as Blake’s – everyone who ever spent more than five minutes with the monochromatic pair knew of their tendency to spike insults back and forth at one another – she’d gotten on par with Weiss’s verbal jousting over the years.

It didn’t hurt to discuss their past partners – not yet, anyways. Neither of them usually brought up the past around Pyrrha, who had done well in moving on from the loss of her entire team, but Yang and Weiss were fine to bring up their own passed partners. It was healing, in some ways, easy to forget that the red and black women were gone completely, not just hanging out in another room. But having someone to talk with who also lived their lives with Ruby and Blake was something neither Weiss or Yang was looking forward to giving up. Of course, Yang will be the one left to shoulder all the memories, but neither of them know that yet.

Weiss puts down her tea after a long drink, looking out the window beside their table at the snow that refuses to melt, eyes revealing the fact she is lost in a memory.

“Do you remember,” she says eventually, voice soft, “That time Ruby tried to have a snowman building competition?”

Yang hums against the rim of her own mug, swallowing before she answers.

“You mean the time we ended up having the largest snowball fight in Beacon’s history, and racked up a damage cost that Glynda made us work to pay back for over three months?”

Weiss smirks in reply, before Yang remembers a very significant detail.

“Hey, wait a minute…. _You_ were the only one who didn’t get stuck on chore duty!”

“A Schnee must know how to find her way out of tricky situations.”

“… You bribed the headmaster, didn’t you?”

“That was a rumour, and you can’t prove anything.”

Yang raises her hands in mock surrender, laughing as she does so.

“While, in any case,” she says, “I do remember that ‘competition,’ as you called it. I think every time snow fell at Beacon, the janitors repaired for extra cleaning duty – remember the time we tried to go tobogganing, and smashed right through the cafeteria windows?”

“If you will recall, that was because _you_ had the brilliant idea of riding the sled down a rooftop, and using one of my glyphs to give you a soft landing.”

“Hey, it wasn’t _my_ fault you messed up your glyph, and made us ricochet off in a different direction.”

“Are you implying it was my fault you nearly beheaded Cardin when you flew straight through the cafeteria hall?”

“Well, I can’t think of anyone else to blame for the fact that Jaune was too traumatized to ever go near a sled again.”

“He really did scream loudly during that ride, didn’t he?”

“Nora recorded it, remember? It was her ringtone for like a month.”

They both laugh at the fond memories, and continue on that path for a while. Eventually, conversation topics drift from old school times to later ones, shifting from years of just starting out to ones of familiarity and fame.

“Remember that time you were too lazy to build a full barrier around a town to keep out the Grimm, and instead just decided to freeze a ring of ice around it?”

Weiss nods, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Yang’s sudden laugh.

“Well, about a week after you finished that mission, I got called out to one of my own – _to melt a hole in that ice_.”

Weiss groans as Yang’s laughter escalates, her face the perfect picture of irritancy.

“I didn’t _intend_ to freeze them in their town, as you’re making it seem like it was. At the time, it seemed like a perfectly viable option. I just… forgot to leave a hole to let them pass through.”

Yang rolls her eyes at the ‘admittance,’ her chuckles fading away.

“Well, in any case, Pyrrha was telling me about that very town. Your ice is stil there, you know – it seems the climate was enough to keep it from melting. It’s solidified with a lot of other things now, of course, but it’s become a tourist attraction of its own, even if the ice is pretty much gone.”

Weiss sighs, shaking her head.

“And Ruby always wondered why the ‘ice queen’ nickname never seemed to fade… there’s no way it would when people continued to hold onto pieces that contributed to the title.”

“Uh, if you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who put them there in the first place.”

“Well, I didn’t _intend_ for them to stay there that long, now did I?”

“How should I know? I’m the one who always has to go melt through them, but I don’t create them in the first place.”

“No, that’s right, you just leave scorch marks the size of a Nevermore.”

Yang laughs, knowing she can’t exactly counter the statement.

“Well, whatever,” she says with a grin, “at least they lead to some interesting nicknames over the years. Firecracker, inferno, smoldering temptress…”

“Overgrown matchbox,” Weiss interjects, smirking behind her hand in a very Blake-esque manner.

“ _Trailblazer_ ,” Yang continues, pointedly ignoring the former heiress’s remark, “Pyromancer… Help me out here, I can’t remember them all. What were the other nicknames?”

“Snow angel.”

Yang jerks at that, her cheeky reply half formed on the tip of her tongue before she remembers where the name is from, and opts instead to just stare at Weiss in shock.

“Ice queen,” Weiss continues, now looking out the window, her hand idly tracing the rim of her now-empty mug. Yang sits and waits, knowing by now when the white-haired woman has something to say, and knowing just as well that it can’t be forced out of her.

There’s silence for a moment, neither woman interrupting the still atmosphere. Then, eventually, Weiss speaks again, a small smile gracing her lips.

“I always thought it was ridiculous,” she says slowly, eyes lost in nostalgia, “That everyone always seemed to call me by the same nickname, just for different reasons, no matter how old I became. You always called me ice queen because of my personality, but those who didn’t know me that well just kept it because of my preference for the dust.”

She glances down at her thin, pianist hands, wrinkled and thin with age.

“Even Roman said it that one time, remember? Way back when we first started fighting them. I honestly thought you’d told it to him, somehow.”

Yang bites back a snicker at that.

“But, I suppose it is rather funny,” Weiss continues, glancing out the window once more, “That the elements our nicknames were based from eventually became the metaphors for our legacies.”

Yang perks an eyebrow at that, not entirely sure what her companion means. Weiss smirks at this, evidently having expected such a reaction from the former brawler.

“Ice queen, Firecracker – names from our semblances and weapons, remember?” Weiss queries, tilting her head to the side and letting the strands of white shift along with it, “Ruby always commented on how people said our lives were like our elements – ice and fire. Even Pyrrha says it sometimes, how your ‘flame’ has never gone out, or how my ‘ice’ has never melted.”

Yang chuckles at that, nodding as she catches Weiss’s drift.

“Right,” she says, “I get what you mean. So long as our elements live on, so do we.”

“It’s probably more the other way around,” Weiss mutters, “But yes, that is the premise.”

“… What a stupid idea.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

They laughed then, the sound echoing softly in the room. It faded, leaving a silence that lingered only for a moment before Yang breaks it.

“Speaking of icy, cold things – how’s the SDC doing?”

“Better than it was before,” Weiss replies, choosing not to rise to Yang’s teasing, “The new head of the board is a Faunus, so a lot of regulations are being passed with less resistance, now.”

Yang nods at the news, unsurprised. While Weiss had officially dropped her title as an heiress back in her huntressing days, she’d become an advisor for the company in the late years of her life, helping to fix the messes that her sister had caused.

“Is there still a lot of things to fix?”

Weiss sighs, nodding in reply.

“We’ve come a long way, but there are still many things we have to change that Winter put in place. Many of her rules completely destroyed the inner workings of the SDC, so we’re starting to rebuild company regulations from scratch. It’s almost starting to be a brand new company.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Weiss shakes her head, frowning slightly.

“No, actually, I don’t think it could have been a better situation for us,” she explains, “While it certainly did put the company in jeopardy for a while, it’s given us the chance to start anew, which we’ve needed for a long time. Winter may have practically wrecked the company single-handedly, but it gave us the chance to rebuild things from the bottom up, fixing a lot of the Faunus rights and helping a lot of other cases, as well.”

Weiss pauses, smiling softly.

“It might be odd, but it gave me a chance to help my family’s name, something I always wanted to do.”

Yang knows that – Weiss had told them long ago, on a field trip back in Beacon, that she strove to be a huntress partly to bring honour back to the Schnee name.

“I guess it’s the only gift I ever really got from my sister, in a way.”

Yang looks up that this, before the heiress’s last words are spoken soft enough that Yang almost misses them.

“Because beyond that, Winter took everything I ever really cared about.”

And Yang, noting the season that refuses to leave – the season that shared the name of a family member who never offered anything; the season that related strongest to the heiress’s namesake; the season that had taken away the partner she’d taken so long to trust, but had eventually come to see as family – knows Weiss isn’t just talking about her sister anymore.

* * *

 

Yang left Summer at her house, dropping her off after training and sitting down to talk a bit with Scarla – the woman herself enjoyed hearing tales from Yang’s life. She enjoyed history; not particularly the stories of Yang beating the crap out of nightmarish creatures, but more along the lines of past leaders and events. Summer generally ran off to play with Autumn, though once in a while she stayed behind to listen with her mother.

Today had run later than Yang had meant for it to, getting caught up in some long story about a war general she’d once met and had the misfortune of accidentally challenging. Pyrrha had lost to him years before, so it was no surprise that Yang had as well – though she left out the details of just how humiliating her defeat was, knowing Summer would all too happily exploit the facts.

The story cause Yang to leave later in the evening, and as she pulled on her heavy boots by the doorway, the wooden door swung open. Rowan, Summer’s father, stood in the doorway, standing in contrast against the dim light of the evening behind him.

“Good evening, Yang,” he greeted, striding through and shutting the door behind him, “It’s good to see you.”

“Same to you,” Yang answered, an easy grin passing her features as she shook his had.

She didn’t get to see Rowan much – the young man was often off at work, and came home later in the evenings, often when Yang had already left. She saw him on the rare occasions she dropped by the house after training on weekends, but for the most part, those were the days she saw Junior. When she did see Rowan, however, she always enjoyed their interactions – the man had an easygoing personality, one that made him easy to talk to, regardless of their rare conversations.

“How’s Summer’s training going?” Rowan asked, hanging up his coat on a hook Yang stood beside.

She stepped aside, answering the question with a laugh as she did so.

“I’ll let her tell you that for herself,” she grinned, “Seeing as how she did some pretty impressive feats today, I doubt she’d want me spoiling her fun of telling you her ‘tales of glory.’”

Rowan laughed, the sound rich and full.

“Well, alright then. I’m glad to hear it’s going well.”

Yang nodded, smiling as she raised a hand in farewell, starting her way over to the door.

“Yang.”

She stopped at the sound of her name, turning to see Rowan facing her with a serious expression on his features. The man paused, raising a hand to awkwardly rest on the nape of his neck.

“I know we say this a lot…” he said, looking almost uncomfortable, “But thank you.”

Yang waved her hand in response; she was thanked by Scarla or Rowan nearly every week, and while she knew they genuinely meant it, she tended just to brush off their gratitude. She hadn’t been in it to gain anything, after all – it was just more to help out Summer. Before she could leave, however, Rowan continued speaking.

“No,” he said, catching Yang’s curiosity and confusion, “I mean… for me, your teaching Summer means much more to me than you could realize.”

Yang raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, letting the man continue.

“Yang,” Rowan repeated, “Have you ever taught anyone before?”

At this, both of Yang’s eyebrows raised – then settled, creating an expression of embarrassment mixed with guilt.

“Not exactly,” she admitted quietly, “I’ve never really been the teaching type. My friends often taught, and my teammates as well – Blake at Beacon, and Ruby at Signal. Even Weiss taught classes on Dust technique once in a while. But out of all of us, I’ve never been the sort to teach.”

Rowan laughed at this, bringing back Yang’s confusion.

“Sorry,” he apologized, waving his hand as his mirth died down, “But despite that fact, I’d say you make an excellent teacher.”

Yang scuffed her boot against the floor, trying to come up with a reply when Rowan continued.

“Ozpin would have been very proud.”

Yang’s head snapped up at this, eyes focusing on Rowan as emotions flashed through them – a myriad of confusion, shock, and many others.

“Wha… what?”

Rowan smiled gently, understanding her reaction.

“I guess we never told you,” he said – had Yang still been her cheeky younger self, her response probably would have been ‘ _no duh.’_

“Ozipin was my father’s great-grandfather,” Rowan clarified, smiling wider at the way Yang’s mouth dropped.

For the former blonde, it was a huge bombshell – all this time, she’d been teaching Ozpin’s descendant? His long descended daughter… his great, great, great… Yeah, she couldn’t figure out that lineage; trying to do so was only making her head hurt. Either way, it was still astonishing that Summer was even slightly related to Ozpin – what were the odds that of all the children Yang could have ended up teaching, it was the descendant of her old headmaster?

“I…” Yang trailed off, clearing her throat before starting again, “I wasn’t even aware that Ozpin had had children.”

Rowan laughed, shrugging in response.

“He always was a private man,” he said, before he frowned in realization, “Well, so I’ve heard. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never met him.”

Yang chuckled at this.

“Well, I can confirm it – he was quite the enigma. Never really knew what he was thinking. He was a good headmaster, though.”

Rowan nodded, smiling.

“So I’d heard. I’m sure he’d have been proud to hear about his graduates teaching – especially about you teaching Summer.”

“Honestly, I’d never really though I’d end up teaching, much less a relative of _Ozpin_ , but here I am. I suppose it’s kind of amusing, though – this way Glynda’s comment that I’d never be a good teacher is all kinds of incorrect.”

“Glynda Goodwitch?” Rowan asked, laughing loudly, “I remember her. I met her once or twice. Never really a woman of strong emotions, was she?”

“There’s a reason I always called her ‘Goodbitch,’” Yang replied, smirking as she recalled the name.

Rowan laughed, the sound petering out before he smiled at the elderly woman, nodding slightly.

“I just wanted to share that with you,” he said, “I realized you should probably learn at some point you were teaching Ozpin’s descendant.”

He raised his hand in farewell and began to make his way down the hallway towards the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder.

“Have a good night, Yang.”

Yang waved in response, though she knew he couldn’t see her. For a moment she stood in the hall, not entirely finished processing the information she’d been given. ‘Small world’ didn’t really cover it – it felt more like fate, or something of the sort, like she’d been destined to run into Summer that day. Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on it too much, instead simply forcing herself to accept she was teaching Ozpin’s relative and leave it at that. Of course, it didn’t really happen that way, but Yang was content to pretend that it had.

In reality, even she couldn’t ignore the thoughts that surfaced in the corners of her mind, whispering about coincidences and fate. It really was a kind of miracle, that the one woman who’d never been much of a teacher was the one to teach her headmaster’s descendant, and the one who left behind the last of the lessons from her generation. It was, honestly, a little unnerving – and Yang had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

 Yang slammed the door behind her, the dust in the frame lifting into the air as she did so, lit aglow by the light in the hallway. She stamped her feet on the mat, shaking the melting snow off of her boots before beginning the task of unlacing them, fingers shaking slightly as she did so. She hung up the old leather jacket, hanging up in its usual spot, inhaling the scent of smoke and gunpower, imbued in the worn fabric.

As her hands fall away, her gaze shifts to a shelf beside the hooks on which her jacket hangs – a shelf void of anything but an old photograph in a dusty frame, several smiling faces grinning back at the elderly woman. Upon seeing it, Yang felt her heart drop, a sudden realization hitting her like a train.

Today was the first time in years, ever since Weiss had passed away, that Yang had forgotten to say goodbye to the photograph as she left her home.

A mixture of emotions comes with the realization, each of them strong and unstoppable, nearly bringing the former brawler to her knees. Instead, she focuses on her hands, on the innumerable number of lines crossing her palms and mingling with old scars. It isn’t memories that flow, this time, but rather thoughts – thoughts that feel like a burden, that are unfortunate truths, and mean so many things that she can no longer ignore.

The first emotion is guilt – as though in some way, she is betraying her teammates; her sister, partner, and friend, by not saying goodbye to them. As if she has somehow left them behind, no longer caring about them – and while Yang knows this isn’t true (the very fact she’s feeling guilt over the thought is proof enough), she can’t shake the feeling that she is in the wrong. It’s been a habit for years, to say goodbye to the photograph, and she’d broken the tradition without even realizing it.

More emotions come as a result of this – shame, anger, sadness – but nothing grows quite like the fear inside her chest, the emotion steadily growing stronger, like a chill running from her heart. It feels like a flower blooming inside her chest, its roots tangling with her veins the more she thinks about the implications of her forgetfulness – because the fear isn’t a worry that something bad will come as a result, like an omen or curse. No, the reason for the fear is much, _much_ worse.

Because no matter how much she tries to admit it, Yang knows exactly what her moment of blunder means – it means that the woman, despite her best efforts, is moving on.

Yang had always known that, no matter what, life goes on. The world spins, the pages turn, and the chapters of one’s life continue to write themselves, no matter what anyone does to change it. There is no way to stop time, to go back and rewrite it – time, after all, waits for no one. The former blonde has known that throughout her entire life, tragedies and memories only serving to solidify this knowledge. And, armed with the understanding, Yang had always done her best to keep moving, hand in hand with time.

Even when the first Summer died, she kept going. When her father passed on, Qrow following his teammate, she continued. When her friends fell in the line of duty, and later from life itself, she’d moved forwards. When Blake was gone, and even when Ruby passed way, Yang had always kept living. When Weiss died, Pyrrha helped her keep going – and when even she was gone, Yang had finally, finally stopped trying to live in the moment.

For the first time in her life, the former brawler had let time pass over her, like waves washing on the shores. She’d let the world pass her by, watching as times changed and the people around her left and came – but she’d stopped trying to stay in the current time, instead letting life move on without her. She didn’t try and live in the past either, for it hurt too much – instead, she found herself in what could almost be defined as a limbo, a state where she wasn’t in the past, nor the present.

And it was in that state she’d resigned herself to, feeling as if at last, she could let life move on without her. And she had been content to live like that, up until she died. It was why she hadn’t passed on her stories, why she’d hidden everything away, and why she’d only made contact with the few people she still knew from the past.

Summer had changed all of that.

Without ever really knowing it, Yang had slowly been brought back into life by her student, the young girl introducing her to the world again, letting her live once more. Through sharing her stories, Yang built bridges with those in the youngest generations, letting her lessons and memories pass on. Through teaching, talking, and just living, Yang had slowly become wrapped up in the current life she lead, once again moving with the flow of time.

Had she realized it more, she might have fought it, might have dug her heels in and cut herself off again, trying to live in the limbo once more. As it was, she’d still tried her hardest not to move on – despite all the voices inside that told her to let go, to move forwards, she’d tried to keep herself as she was.

And now, she knew, she’d lost that battle. Time didn’t just move around her – it dragged her along, lost in the waves. It didn’t just wash against her as though she were the shore; it pulled her back in with the tide, bringing the isolated woman back to the world. And Yang knew, as she had always known, that there was no way of stopping it.

Time kept going. And whether she was ready or not, whether she wanted to, Yang was moving on.

That was where the fear came from – from the idea that no matter how much she struggled, she would leave the past behind, and it would be forever lost to the confines of her room. She knew there was only one way around it – and that was to carry the past with her into the future, to share it with Summer and everyone else, so that it would live on long after she did.

Yang was, simply put, terrified of either outcome. She’d lived so long trying to disconnect herself from both the past and the present that suddenly knowing she had to return to both caused fear and anxiety, and sadness as well. But she knew she had little choice – and the moment she forgot to say goodbye proved it. It was time for Yang to move forwards; time to let go.

She wasn’t ready. And, Yang realized, she would probably never be ready.

The elderly woman reached out a trembling hand to the photograph, her fingers gently touching the glass, leaving streaks on the dusty surface. Cleared away by her fingertips, the faces smiled back at her, unhindered by the dirt. Herself, her sister, her partner, and her friend. Yang’s team smiled at her – and for the first time in a large number of years, Yang found herself smiling back.

Her hand fell slowly, then rested on the white belt around her waist, moving up to touch the black ribbon on her arm, and at last, the red scarf around her neck. She stood there in silence, letting the thoughts run through her mind, the fear slowly dissipating; replaced by an emotion she hadn’t felt in many years – hope.

It was time to move on, whether she wanted to or not. Time to move forwards, time to let go.

And for the first time since the last of her friends had passed away, Yang knew she didn’t have to do it alone. 

* * *

 

 _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is eighty-six._ The air is warm, the wind surprisingly gentle. The sun shines clearly, occasionally hampered by one of the occasional clouds that appear, drifting aimlessly across the sky. It could almost be considered a perfect day, one that is only hampered by the mood of the woman sitting in a patch of sunlight, letting time pass slowly by.

Yang sits in silence in the open field, eyes scanning the sky pointlessly, not really focusing on anything in particular. There is nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no sound of anything but the wind in the grass and the surrounding trees, no voices to keep her attention occupied.

It’s a quiet birthday, one that doesn’t particularly stand out from any of the other days of the year. Pyrrha promised to pass by in the evening, when she had finished her last lesson with her last student, but that isn’t for many hours yet. It’s still early in the day, the sun not yet having reached its peak point in the sky. Truthfully, Yang normally wouldn’t have already left her house by this time, but today is different.

Today she sits in the open field, amongst the stakes of engraved wood that are scattered in rows around her, varying in their ages. She herself sits in front of a set of three planks of wood, each of them worn by different periods of time – one is withered slightly from years of sitting there; another slightly less worn, but still showing age; and the third looks almost brand new, clearly a recent addition. In front of each marker sits a small stone placard – and at the right end of the row is a blank one, a space not yet filled.

Yang leans back, resting her weight on her arms as she watches the sky. It isn’t the first time she’s been here, not by a long shot – but this time doesn’t feel like the rest, as thought the day stands apart from the others. It isn’t just because it’s her birthday – no, Yang knows exactly the reason it feels different. Every other time she’s visited the Beacon Memorial field, there had been snow.

The field had existed long before Yang ever arrived at the school, and would probably remain to do so indefinitely. It wasn’t a cemetery, but rather, simply a place for monuments. In it was a grave marker for each of the hunters or huntresses who graduated from Beacon, and had passed on since. There were no bodies in the field – the very nature of the work didn’t often leave a body to bury, if the deceased had fallen in the line of duty – but wooden markers with individual symbols on them lay in place of them, stone placards below them listing off the names of the fallen.

Many of the markers were coloured – denoting death in the line of duty – but some of them weren’t, including the three Yang sat in front of. On her left was a row of four, all in colour; on the right was one of three, two coloured, one plain wood. A space between the second and third lay empty, designated for Pyrrha Nikos. The coloured row was all that remained of Cardin’s team – and Yang knew if she went several rows back, she’d find a set of four; three coloured, one plain: Velvet’s own team.

She didn’t know many of the markers, but there were a couple handcrafted ones place between JNPR and RWBY – one plain, one coloured. Sun and Neptune had never gotten their own grave markers, being from a different school, but that had never stopped their friends from adding monuments of their own.

It might not have been a particularly cheery way of spending the day, but Yang hadn’t felt right sitting at home – she’d almost been drawn to the field, as if pulled by external forces. That, and she missed her friends. No large celebrations existed for Yang anymore – grave markers couldn’t fill the silence her friends left behind – but it was comforting to spend time there, almost as if her friends themselves were in the field with her, just hidden from view.

Yang, however, had never visited Beacon’s Memorial field alone before. She’d been there many times with friends to either mourn the loss of someone who’d fallen in battle, or with others just to leave flowers for all those who were gone. Each and every time, however, there’d been company, and that had made the silence bearable.

Yang tilts her head back, lids sliding closed over lilac eyes, the warm breeze ruffling her hair and the grass around her. The short gray strands tickle her wrinkled cheeks, but she keeps her eyes closed, as if saying a silent prayer. Then she opens them slowly, sitting back up straight and looking at the most recent grave marker before her.

A snowflake design, branded into the wood, stared back at her. Beside it was the slightly worn decal of a rose, and on its right sat the weathered wood of Blake’s own symbol. Yang sighs, shaking her head and letting gray bangs fall over her eyes, shadowing her face. The sky copies her a moment afterwards, a cloud passing over the sun and throwing the field into shadow for a moment. Then it’s gone, and the sunlight returns.

Yang looks around her, still not over the fact that there isn’t any snow. Every other time she’s visited her team, there had been a white blanket over everything in the field. Then again, she’d never visited her team with a third marker before. When Weiss had been buried, the snow had still lain around them – but then it had melted, and no more had fallen since.

Yang sighs, glancing at her worn hands and snapping her fingers. A spark; then a small, wavering flame appears, dancing across her fingertips. The warm breeze blows it out a moment later, but Yang doesn’t notice, her attention already back to the sky. Yang laughs softly, the sound carrying across the empty field. Then she speaks, commenting to no one in particular.

“Looks like my flame is still going, huh?”

Yang pauses and smiles, sadness deep in her eyes, lines around the lilac pupils crinkling.

“But your ice has finally melted… Weiss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One... more... chapter... 
> 
> To anyone who has been attempting to follow this story, thank you for your patience! I am not a quick writer, and finding time to sit down and write chunks of this story is a challenge on its own. But thank you for reading it - your comments and kudos always give me encouragement to finish the story. One more chapter remaining - hope you enjoy this one.


	5. Summer, Again

_Today is Summer’s birthday. She is seven._ The day has been long, filled with laughter and excitement, the sun already setting down beyond the horizon. It has been a day of celebration for the young girl and her family, but the festivities aren’t quite over yet – no, one thing remains, Summer and her sister sitting and waiting eagerly for it.

Scarla and Rowan are out of sight in the kitchen, but not quite out of hearing range – the girls can hear their parents muttering to one another, a quiet conversation interspersed with moments of laughter, the soft chuckles of their father, the louder cackle of their mother. It’s a familiar sound, hearing the pair laugh – for all of their little arguments, there isn’t a day in Summer’s memory when she doesn’t hear her parents laughing with one another. She is young, and might not have a lot of experience and wisdom beyond her years, but even she knows how lucky she is to hear it.

A small sound beside her catches the young girl’s wandering attention – Summer turns to see her sister clambering up onto the seat beside her, little arms pulling her weight upwards. The five-year-old has only just begun to lose her baby teeth – her two front ones, making Summer laugh every time she sees her sister grin. Autum finishes her ascent onto the wooden chair beside her sister, trying to find her balance atop the stack of phone books placed on the seat. The young Faunus isn’t exactly of large stature – in fact, without the help of the books, her nose barely brushes above the tabletop.

Wide eyes latch on to Summer, before a wide, toothy grin crosses the Faunus’ face. Summer laughs openly, reaching out a hand to ruffle her sister’s hair – Autumn’s face crinkles in displeasure, her nose wrinkling as she bats Summer’s hands away. Within moments, it turns into an impromptu competition – Summer trying to muss her sister’s hair, Autumn trying to keep her from doing so. They giggle, hands batting one another away, until Summer’s hand catches one of Autumn’s ears.

Her sister gasps in surprise more than anything else, ears swiveling and slightly flattening against her head. In an instant, Summer’s hands are hovering nervously around Autumn’s shoulders, unsure of whether or not she should comfort her, or call for help. The nervousness builds as seconds tick by – after a minute or so, Autumn’s ears perk up again, her grin returning.

“I’m okay!” she says happily, pointing at her ears, “’m tough like that.”

Summer laughs, relief spreading through her body. She smirks at her sister, raising an eyebrow at the younger girl.

“Tough, huh?” she replies, her tone mocking, “I somehow recall you crying last week because you poked your mouth too hard with your toothbrush.”

The reaction is instantaneous – Autumn’s face changes immediately from happiness to opposition, her cheeks puffing up in irritation and her expression becoming that of an annoyed pout. While intended to be confrontational, the expression is almost comical on the young girl.

“It hurt!” she protests loudly, causing her sister to giggle.

“Sorry, sorry,” Summer answers amidst laughter, her mirthful apologies causing Autumn to hit her sister’s arm in annoyance, which only prompts the older girl to laugh even harder.

“Suuummmeeeeer!”

Autumn’s whine carries into the kitchen, catching the attention of Scarla, who pokes her head through the doorway, a eyebrow cocked in question.

“Are you girls behaving in there?” she asks, receiving two heads bobbing in rapid succession.

“We’re almost done!” Rowan’s promise floats into the room, he himself still out of sight, “Autumn, you ready to sing?”

An excited affirmative comes from the younger sister. Scarla smiles at the response, ducking back out of sight to join her husband. The moment she disappears from view, Autumn whirls back towards her sister, glaring menacingly at her. Of course, the sight of it nearly sends Summer into a fit of giggles again.

They sit in silence for a moment, the sisters well accustomed to one another’s presence. Summer’s eyes fall on the room around them, the light considerably darkened than from earlier in the day. There are lights, but no one has bothered to turn them on yet, knowing that they’ll be unnecessary for the upcoming situation. As a result, the objects around them are simply dark shapes, details lost in the dim light.

Boxes are piled around them, cardboard boxes that aren’t yet unpacked, untidy writing scrawled on the fronts of them. The family had only recently moved – and was, unsurprisingly, nowhere near completely settled in yet. They’d taken recently to simply rummaging through boxes to find what they needed in the current moment, instead of putting everything away and being done with it all. It was easier for all, but definitely more disorganized – and had, more often than once, led to very interesting outfits for Summer and Autumn. There isn’t a lot of clothing synchronization when your choices are the first things pulled out of boxes.

Summer studies the boxes absent mindedly, trying to decipher Scarla’s messy handwriting. Her mother is really the only one who knows what’s in each box – between her poor organizing and terrible scrawl, no one else in the family has any clue where anything is. Her musings come to an end shortly, as Autumn breaks the silence by pointing to a darkening bruise on Summer’s arm and speaks aloud.

“How’d ya get that?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing in curiousity and confusion.

“Fell down the stairs,” Summer replies, the answer rolling off her tongue easily – it’s one of many excuses in her repertoire of replies. Truthfully, she got it from a fight a few days ago, when some of the local kids decided she stood up to them a little too much. It’s not the first fight she’d gotten in ever since they’d moved, nor would it be anywhere near her last – Summer had a thing against bullies, and had made it her own personal goal to ensure they never went after her sister again, even if it meant fighting every kid in the city. Autumn had been bullied back in their old neighborhood, and Summer had sworn to never let it happen again.

At the memory of the fight, and the thought of Autumn being bullied, Summer can feel something rise up within her – it’s not the first time she’s felt it, but she still has no idea what it is. A feeling of warmth seems to fill her bones, spreading from her heart all the way to her fingertips, as if being sent through her veins. It’s not something she can control, but it doesn’t hurt at all – if anything, it just makes the air around her feel several degrees warmer.

Autumn, for her part, notices Summer’s sudden silence – and, with a degree of wisdom no five-year-old should ever have, reaches out to place a hand on Summer’s forehead. The sudden movement causes Summer to jerk back, caught off guard by the outstretched hand. Her sister out of reach, Autumn loses her balance, tipping forwards and flailing as she heads towards the floor. In a flash, Summer’s hands are outstretched, grabbing onto her sister’s arms and pulling her upright again.

The gesture helps, but the heat running through Summer’s hands does not. Autumn winces slightly, the pressure from her sister’s fingertips and the unexpected warmth causing a reaction that Summer notices immediately. Hands withdraw in an instant, wide eyes watching for anymore signs of pain, waiting for a reason to call for help. After a moment of confusion over her sister’s sudden withdrawl, Autumn’s face clears with understanding, and she shakes her head quickly, hair ruffling everywhere.

“’M okay, Summer!” she says, reaching out for her sisters hands, even though the older girl pulls them back, “you di’nt hurt me, ‘m okay. Just surprised!”

Summer smiles at that, her freckled cheeks rising slightly in relief. She lets her sister grab her hands, feeling the heat slowly fade from her fingertips, the adrenaline and memory dissipating with it. Autumn, however, isn’t quite as intent on letting it go.

“Muuuum!” she hollers, before Summer can stop her, “Summer’s warm again!”

At this, Scarla pokes her head out of the kitchen, concern furrowing her brow.

“She’s warm?” she repeats, making her way towards her daughters, leaning over slightly as she reaches them.

A large, soft hand lays itself on Summer’s forehead before she can protest, the lines in Scarla’s face deepening as the temperature registers in her palm. Summer’s smaller hands come up, batting her mother’s hand away from her forehead, leaning back with a disgruntled expression.

“I’m okay, Mum, really,” Summer protests, her expression fading from one of annoyance to a small grin.

Scarla purses her lips, clearly not fully convinced, but the sound of matches rattling in a box draws her attention away. After a moment, she sighs and straightens back upwards, fixing her daughters with a thoughtful stare.

“Hopefully it’s not a fever starting up again,” she says quietly, almost to herself, then raises her volume for the second part of her statement.

“That would mean you wouldn’t be able to eat the cake!”

At Summer’s rapid protests that _yes_ , she is _fine_ to eat the cake, Scarla smiles and rejoins her husband in the kitchen. Summer whirls to glare at the tattletale sitting beside her – Autumn scrunches up her nose at her. The older sister retaliates by sticking out her tongue, before the sound of a match being struck catches her attention.

Seconds later, Rowan and Scarla emerge from the kitchen, holding a cake with candles that glow in the darkened room. They strike up a key, the familiar song Summer hears every year beginning to be sung. Autumn joins in immediately – as well as slightly off key – and the room is quickly filled with the sound of singing, three voices, two young and one old, combining in celebration. The song ends just as the cake makes its way in front of Summer, candlelight reflecting in the young girl’s eyes.

The cake is handmade, icing spread smooth with several crumbs mixed into it, a smooth hand having lettered the words “Happy Birthday, Summer” on it. The seven candles placed across the surface glow warmly, flickering slightly, wax dripping slowly down the striped candles. For a moment, Summer can only stare, before her mother’s voice softy startles her back to awareness.

“Well, Summer,” Scarla says quietly, “make a wish!”

“Yeah, Summer, make a wish!”

Autumn’s echo prompts a chuckle from all of them, and draws Summer’s attention towards her younger sister for a moment. The younger girl looks happier than Summer’s seen her in the past couple of weeks, eyes bright and Faunus ears perked. And it’s then, in that moment, that Summer knows what she wants to wish for – the same thing she’s asked for as long as she can remember.

Truthfully, there’s a lot of things a seven-year-old can wish for for their birthday – new toys, new friends, lots of snow this winter, whatever. There’s more sobering things they could wish for, as well – for their parents to spend more time with them, for their old neighbour to get more company. But Summer doesn’t wish for any of those things; instead, she wishes for something that she herself can make happen.

Neither Summer, nor Autumn, nor her parents know how the future will play out. They will learn, in months to come, that Summer’s sudden bursts of heat are actually her semblance beginning to show, but for now they simply see it as a fever that refuses to go away. They don’t know that the bullies will fight Summer, and that she’ll continue to fight back, until someone knocks some sense into her. They won’t know that Summer’s semblance will cause her to be a terror in the neighborhood, at least for a while, and that she’ll continue to struggle with it as she grows even more. And none of them know that on one completely normal day, an elderly woman will introduce herself, and offer to teach the eldest daughter.

They know none of that yet, and so Summer doesn’t even dare to dream of wishing to change that. Instead, she closes her eyes, makes the same wish she always has, and blows out the candles with a puff of air. The smoke quickly disappates into the air as the company in the room laughs, Scarla and Rowan clapping and Autumn cheering loudly. As the candles are plucked from the cake, a knife picked from the kitchen and starting to slice the cake, Autumn leans towards her sister, bouncing in her seat excitedly.

“Well, Summer? What’d ya wish for?”

Summer only smirks, picking up an abandoned candle and poking into her sister’s mouth. She laughs at the surprise on Autumn’s face, and the irritated expression that follows it, continuing to giggle even as she wards off Autumn’s own retaliating candle attack. Rowan’s gentle chastisments fill the room, before Scarla comes over and plucks her own pair of candles, shoving them into her own mouth to impersonate a walrus. Within minutes, three girls with candles hanging from their upper lips are slowly moving towards Rowan, the man laughing at his wife and daughters.

The merriment will continue, a fitting end to the birthday. Summer will crack jokes, and Autumn will laugh loudly – unknowingly filling the same wish Summer had just made, and the same one she’d made every year.

The wish that, no matter what, her sister would always be able to keep laughing.

* * *

 

Flames licked the surface of the ground, singing the edges of the leaves gathered there, dancing across pebbles and the warm pavement. Summer giggled as she twirled, watching the fire follow her movements, a spiral of endless warmth. The young girl stopped spinning, letting the flames find their way back to her hands, tickling her fingertips before at last going out in a puff of smoke. In a mixture of surprise and glee, wide eyes found their way to their mentor, focusing in on Yang.

The elderly woman watched her pupil with a faint look of pride, sharing the same sense of wonder that Summer was feeling. In the months that had passed since Yang had began sharing her stories, Summer had progressed far past the point of simply summoning flames, instead learning to control them. The level of control she had reached in some ways blew Yang away – the brawler herself had taken years to reach that point in her semblance. Summer, on the other hand, picked up on things much quicker than Yang had – which led them to where they were at today.

Yang watched Summer study her hands, watching her expression change as she took in just what she had accomplished. It was no small feat to control the flames in the way the young girl just had – Summer knew it, Yang knew it; anyone with a fire-based semblance knew it. Fire was a tricky thing, tangible but troublesome, hard to change in its path. Yet the young girl had already grasped the concept – and, if Yang were to be honest, had all but mastered it.

“Yang!”

The awe-filled silence was finally broken, interrupting the woman’s thoughts.

“Did you see that?” Summer continued, her words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush, as though she couldn’t say them quickly enough, “the flames followed me! I was spinning, and they spun too, and I burnt half the leaves on the ground, but they actually followed me–”

“I saw, I saw!”

Yang replied with a laugh, the laughter lines deepening in her skin as she smiled at her student’s enthusiasm. Summer had returned to staring at her palms as her teacher approached, the former blonde reaching out a wrinkled hand and ruffling Summer’s hair. The girl didn’t even react as she usually did – sputtering and shoving the hand off her head, before retaliating and trying to jump to reach Yang’s own hair – instead looking up at her mentor with an expression of astonishment and glee. Yang laughed at the sight, turning and walking back towards the swings.

“Job well done, kiddo,” she said, sitting herself down with a creak (of the swings, not her bones), “Want to try the shield before we call it a day?”

Summer nodded enthusiastically, hair bobbing around her face with the motion. Yang grinned, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the same rubber balls they’d begun training with – though by now, they were scorched, blackened by heat and flame. The brawler nodded towards the girl, who smiled and closed her eyes in concentration, before snapping them back open and summoning more flames.

They wrapped around her hands before extending outwards, creating a shield like shape before her body. The sight was a welcome one, and one that had taken a while for Summer to get used to – at first, the flames wrapping around her hands made her incredibly nervous, understandably. It had taken her a while to grasp the concept that her own flames wouldn’t burn her, but Yang had helped her get past that (whispering  “they can smell fear” hadn’t really helped matters much, but the former blonde had done it anyways). Now the flames were well within control, able to be manipulated at a moments notice.

Yang gave the girl a second to prepare herself, before pulling her arm back and throwing the ball straight at Summer. The young girl held her hands up immediately, palms facing in the incoming projectile – willed by her motions, the flames spread between her hands, creating a wall of fire between her and the ball. The rubber didn’t stand a chance. It melted on contact, creating a missile of molten elasticity – one that Summer knew by now to dodge. And dodge she did, letting the former rubber ball miss her and land on the ground with a pathetic sort of splat.

Yang flashed the girl a thumbs up as she let the flames go out once more, clearly satisfied with the results of their training. The “shield” was something Yang had discovered about a month ago – all users with elemental semblances tended to either use their powers offensively or defensively, and their control abilities changed depending on their preference. Yang had always had an offensive tendency – it was why her punches were always feuled by flame, her anger further propelling her to fight.

Summer, on the other hand, was of the opposite mentality. They’d accidentally discovered her shield technique when Yang, wanting to get back at Summer for the slew of age-related puns she’d unleashed earlier that day (Hey, Yang! Your back goes out more than you do!). She’d snuck up on the girl, who was concentrating on the flames dancing across her palms, making sure they didn’t go out – and had reached out to ruffle her hair, startling Summer. In a flash, the girl had whirled around to defend herself – and the flames had followed, tagging along with her hands to catch Yang in the act. They’d gone out a moment later, but the action had shocked both Yang and Summer into realization, and had set them on another path.

Now, weeks later, Summer had the shield under control. It was only a basic movement, keeping your flames in synchronization with your actions, but it was one that could lead to much more powerful moves. A solid foundation went a long way – that was a lesson Yang knew well, and Summer had mastered that basis.

Yang lowered her hands as the last of the flames went out, smiling at the girl with a mixture of pride and sadness. She was, without a doubt, proud of her student – the level of control the girl had mastered was far more than enough for her to continue living without any problems. But that mastery meant one thing for Yang – the knowledge that Summer had, at last, reached the end of her training. The girl might not have known it, but Yang had nothing left to teach her – well, nothing that wasn’t meant for combat, which was knowledge Summer did not yet need to learn. In fact, unless she set herself on the path of a huntress, she’d never need to know it.

Summer sauntered over towards Yang, her feet kicking up the singed leaves as she did so.

“Are we done for the day?” she asked, looking both excited and relieved.

Yang nodded in reply, watching Summer’s face split into a wide grin at the answer.

“Awesome!” she cried, pumping her fist in the air before turning to leave, “guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Hold on a second, Summer,” Yang interrupted, standing up to follow the girl, “I’ll come with you. Have to talk to your folks about something.”

“I’m not in trouble, am I? Also, no one says folks anymore, Yang. Get with the program. Get some new knees while you’re at it.”

“Who says I want to get with the program? For all you know, I’m starting a new trend.”

“That’s not a trend, that’s a flashback!”

Yang rolled her eyes, ending the banter that would have gone on forever otherwise.

“Well, forgetting that, no, you’re not in trouble.”

“Then what do you need to talk to my folks – wait, no –”

“ _Ha!_ ”

“That doesn’t count! You kept saying it!”

“I win!”

The pair continued to argue, Summer’s question lost in the pointless battle. They were an odd sight to those who saw them – two very different ages, both acting remarkably young. Most of the neighbourhood, however, was used to them at this point, “Summer and her elderly friend” being a conversation topic for the particularly nosy in the area.

Summer and Yang rounded the corner, stepping into the alleyway they’d gone through many times before on the way back to the young girl’s house – the same one Yang had first spotted her student in. Unlike the previous times they’d passed through it, however, it was occupied. Several children were playing in it – Yang recognized them as the kids she’d seen Summer fighting, once upon a while ago.

The elderly woman had heard from Scarla that the fights had stopped, and that Summer had quit standing up to the bullies without reason. However, she still had yet to make amends to them, leaving a bit of a rift between herself and the other kids. Part of it was from the fighting, Yang knew, but she was willing to bet that more of the reason was due to the fact Summer had her semblance – and that the other kids didn’t know she had it under control.

Summer herself had stopped beside Yang at the entrance to the alleyway, stiffening as she saw the kids. Several moments later, they noticed her as well – immediately, they exchanged looks, and turned to run away. Yang, however, stopped them in their tracks.

“Hold on a second,” she called, watching as the kids froze where they were. Regardless of their fear of Summer, they knew that Yang deserved some respect.

Yang herself knelt down beside Summer, for once the pops in her joints going without comment from the young girl. Summer looked apprehensive, almost afraid, but Yang reached out to take hold of her shoulder.

“Remember what I told you about fire hurting people?”

Summer nodded, her eyes flicking back and forth between the bullies and Yang.

“And how it can also bring warmth?”

The girl nodded again, this time keeping her eyes on her mentor, wary but trusting.

Yang smiled encouragingly, taking her hand off her shoulder.

“Then go show them how neat fire can be when it _isn’t_ a danger to them.”

Summer’s brows furrowed, worry coming across her face once more – but Yang merely nodded, letting the girl know it would be okay.

With a deep breath, Summer turned back to her former bullies – they’d stayed, as Yang had told them to, but looked just as scared as Summer did. The girl took a few steps forward, but enough to still keep a safe distance from them. Shutting her eyes tight, she let the flames come to life, prompting several startled shouts from the kids before her. Worried, she turned back to Yang, who gestured for her to keep going – the kids, though they had taken a few steps back, had yet to flee.

Summer turned back to them, giving them a small, timid smile, before she spun on the spot. Instantly, the fire flared up around her, light flooding the alleyway and casting shadows that danced on the wall. The heat spilled from around her twirling figure, warming the faces of those who watched – Yang, in contentment, and the kids, in wonder and surprise. Summer spun once, twice, three times more before slowing to a stop, facing the kids again. Opening her eyes revealed the crimson glow of her pupils, but the fear of them was overtaken by the wonder of the flames, which swirled around her feet like the fabric of a dress. After a moment of stillness, Summer let the flames go out, extinguished in a burst of smoke.

The alleyway was immediately cooler, the warmth of the summer evening nowhere near the heat of the flames. The kids were looking at her curiously, Summer watching them back with uneasiness, Yang observing both groups carefully. Eventually, one of the kids in the front spoke up, his voice quiet in the silence.

“Can you do that again?”

Yang watched as they crowded around Summer, nervous questions starting out slow and spaced out, until their unease faded away and was replaced by excitement, questions brimming from their mouths like water over the edge of a dam. Summer, for her part, answered them all as best she could – the worry on her face slowly gave way to happiness, as the bridge she’d literally burnt between the other children began to rebuild itself.

Yang watched happily, a vague sense of nostalgia returning to her. She knew from experience how exciting it was to have a semblance when those around you did not – kids always wanted to unlock their own, and were often awed when their peers succeeded. But more importantly, Yang knew how important it was when something others feared became something they admired – in this case, Summer’s semblance. The very thing that had set them apart was now bringing them back together, past mishaps already left behind.

“Right, Yang?”

Summer’s question shook the elderly woman from her thoughts, her attention brought back to the current situation at hand.

“Sorry, what?”

Summer turned to the other kids for a moment, waving her hand dismissively.

“Short attention span,” she explained sagely, “it’s what happens when you get old.”

“Hardy har, you little genius,” Yang shot back, evidently unamused, “what was the question?”

Summer sighed, but repeated it anyways.

“The flow of the flames is fed by emotion, right?”

Yang nodded.

“Yup,” she clarified, “the steadier the emotion, the smoother the flow. If your emotions are all out of whack, then your fire is, too.”

“Did you teach her that, Granny?”

Yang resisted the urge to punch out the kid next to her, instead sighing exasperatedly before nodding in reply. Almost immediately, a chorus of ‘can you teach me’ and ‘how do you unlock your semblance’ rose up around her. Yang waved her hands in an answer, warding off the sudden requests.

“I can’t teach you guys much,” she explained, “for one, semblances unlock themselves; there’s no definite way of getting them to show. Secondly, I’m a heat based semblance user – if you guys don’t have that as your semblance, like Summer does, then you’re flat out of luck when it comes to being taught by me.”

At the looks of dejection on their faces, Yang continued.

“But don’t worry,” she said, noting the way they perked up at her words, “you’ll unlock them someday, and when you do, there’ll be a lot more people around to teach you how to control them. Summer just unlocked hers a bit early, so there wasn’t anyone besides me to teach her.”

Summer muttered some comment about ‘not her first choice,’ which Yang shot her a dark look for.

“Anyways, until you guys unlock your semblances, you can all ask Summer questions about what it’s like to have one.”

And with that, the attention returned back to Summer, curiosity and enthusiasm mingling with the young voices that echoed in the alleyway. Yang waited until the last of the questions were answered, and the former bullies left for their own homes, wishing Summer well. The girl in question looked happy, but there was something in her expression Yang couldn’t quite place.

“You alright, kiddo?”

Summer shot her a look.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Yeah, well, you introduced me to all your newfound friends as “Granny,” so, tough.”

For once, Summer didn’t continue their banter, instead looking down the alleyway where the other kids had disappeared to. Yang waited, knowing better than to force Summer to speak what was on her mind.

“I’d always wondered,” Summer began after a moment, “what it would be like to be accepted by them.”

Ah. Yang paused, giving herself a moment to find the right words.

“You know,” she said, drawing her student’s attention to her, “I didn’t get along with some of my closest friends at first.”

“Really? Who?”

“Well, Weiss, for one,” Yang said simply, shrugging at the mention, “we didn’t see eye to eye for a long time. It took a couple of life or death situations before we really accepted one another as friends, and even then, it took us a long time to be as close as we were at the end of her days.”

Summer didn’t interrupt, now listening intently.

“I used to wonder,” the brawler continued, “how it would have been if we’d gotten along from the start. What would it have been like, to not have fought over every little thing, to not have teased each other as much as we did? Would things have been better? Would it have changed our lives later on?”

Yang shrugged again, turning to look at Summer.

“And you know what I one day realized?”

Summer shook her head. Yang smiled warmly in return.

“That it didn’t really matter either way.”

There was a pause, before Summer replied, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“It didn’t matter?”

“Nope!” Yang answered, grinning, “because either way, we still became friends. Either way, we became close, and either way, we were there for each other when we needed to be. I still listened to her complaints, she still helped me fix the things I broke, and we both laughed at one another’s bad haircuts.”

Yang’s smile turned sadder, but still affectionate, a nostalgic look to the expression.

“Maybe in some universe, Weiss and I would have been closer from the start – and who knows? Maybe we would have been better friends for it. But this is the life we were given, the one we fought in. And at the end of it all, those fights made us understand one another more, made us better friends for it.

“I don’t know what would have happened if we never fought. I guess I’ll always be doomed to wonder, and never know – but I also know, that at the end of it all, we were still friends. It didn’t matter how we became them, how much we fought beforehand, because it ended the same either way.

“It’ll be the same for you, Summer. You may have started fighting with them, but you can become friends with them now. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll look back on these fights with fondness, because they were what led you to find some of your closest friends. But Summer? None of that will happen if you worry about how things used to be. What really matters is what’s happening now – the fact that you have a chance to be friends with them. And you can be, if you let it happen.”

They stood in silence once Yang had finished, neither having the words to continue. For once, Yang didn’t let herself dwell on the story she’d shared with Summer, instead simply waiting for the girl to reply. Eventually, Summer turned to look at Yang – and the brawler startled for a moment, seeing the depth in the young girl’s eyes.

“Thanks, Yang,” she said softly, her voice quiet in the evening air. Yang smiled in reply, reaching out and softly ruffling her hair, a giggle slipping out from smiling lips.

“No problem, Summer.”

They reached Summer’s home not long after that – the young girl raced inside to tell her parents about her day, about her new friends, about what had happened in the alleyway. She didn’t tell her parents about her training – she’d decided to keep her progress a secret, so she could surprise them by showing them how far she’d come – but she told them everything else, before racing off to find Autumn.

Yang stood in the threshold of the home, watching the exchange between parents and child. Scarla and Rowan stood for a moment after Summer had left, looking at one another with a mixture of shock and happiness. Then they turned to Yang, who’d been mentioned in the story, attributed to starting the interaction between Summer and her former bullies. Yang shrugged, not really sure what to say to the pair.

Scarla stepped up to face Yang, her eyes belaying the gratitude that her words could not. After a moment, the younger woman reached out, wrapped her arms around Yang’s shoulders, and pulled her into a hug.

They stayed like that for a moment – Yang caught between surprise and acceptance, knowing the reason why Scarla was hugging her, but startled by the action. Then, slowly, she moved her own arms up to hug the woman back, returning the gesture. They pulled away after a moment, Scarla wiping tears away from her cheeks, the smile on her face too bright to be quenched by the tears. Rowan hugged Yang next, bending down slightly to do so.

When he withdrew, Yang faced the pair, studying the parents as she did so. In the time it had taken her to teach Summer, she’d come to know the girl’s entire family – and, in some ways, almost saw them as a family of her own. In some ways, Autumn even saw her as some sort of free spirited aunt – a really old one, who occasionally dropped by.

How far things had come since their first meeting, Yang mused, looking at Scarla and Rowan. The young mother had nearly slammed the door in her face when they’d first met, yet now thanked her every time they spoke. Rowan, though he hadn’t been quite as abrasive as Scarla at first, had also welcomed Yang with open arms.

Yang smiled at her own thoughts, scuffing her feet against the floor, before she sent her grin to the pair.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly, the answer to the words that had been spoken hundreds of times before.

Scarla and Rowan laughed, the sound returned by Yang. They then began to speak, Yang suggesting something to the pair, who quickly agreed. Plans were set, times arranged, and then Yang was waving goodbye to them, letting herself out the door, and making her way back home.

* * *

 The next day brought Summer to her door, as opposed to the usual way of Yang coming to greet the girl in her own home. She knocked on the door in rapid succession, a small tune formed in the sounds. Yang rolled her eyes at the juvenile action, but went to open the door anyways.

“Heya, Yang!” Summer greeted happily, entering the house and standing on the mat, prepared to head back out immediately, “ready for training?”

Yang chuckled, turning and heading into the kitchen for a moment.

“You can take off your shoes, Summer,” she called, her voice floating to the girl back at the door, “we’re not doing training today.”

“We’re not?”

The confusion was evident in Summer’s tone, making Yang smile in spite of herself.

“Then what are we doing?”

Summer’s voice became clearer as she rounded the corned, coming to meet Yang in the kitchen. The former blonde didn’t reply immediately, her back turned to her student, looking out the small window into the street.

“I need your help with something today,” she said at last, her voice quiet, yet filled with emotion.

Summer tilted her head, her action closely resembling that of a cat.

“My help?” she repeated, intrigued, “with what?”

Yang turned back to face her, stifling a giggle at her appearance.

“Come with me,” she answered, striding past Summer out of the kitchen.

“Oh, sure, _now_ you play the mysterious card,” the girl sarcastically replied, following her mentor out of the room and up the staircase, “you tell me not to act all coy, but when the moment presents itself, you’re the one who acts all…”

Her voice petered out as the pair came to a stop in front of a familiar door. The solid, dark wood was closed, but it was a room Summer wasn’t going to forget any time soon – the room at the end of the hall, filled with remnants of Yang’s past life.

The young girl looked at the door with a mixture of confusion and worry, before glancing up at her mentor, to find her staring straight at the door.

“Yang…?” she began, not really sure of what to say.

Yang breathed out heavily, closing her eyes, before looking down at her student.

“It’s alright, Summer,” she said, though her voice shook slightly, “it… It just…”

“It hurts.”

Yang startled at the unexpected comment, staring at Summer as she continued.

“It’s like a bandaid that you need to rip off. It’s healed, but…”

The girl looked back up to Yang, eyes filled with a wisdom beyond her years.

“It hurts.”

Yang nodded, words temporarily lost. Summer looked down for a moment, then reached out and took the woman’s hand, glancing back up at her.

“It hurts,” she repeated once more, “but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Yang smiled slightly, though the action hurt her heart, then nodded. Summer smiled back, before tilting her head towards the door.

“You have to open it,” she clarified, “I did last time, so now it’s your turn.”

Yang snorted, but complied, wrapping her palm around the cool metal of the doorknob. For a moment, she paused, unsure of how to move forwards. Then, out of nowhere, she felt a slight pressure squeeze her other hand – Summer’s silent support. Yang took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.

The smell of gunpowder and roses hit her before the sight did, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. Summer took a small step across the threshold, entering the room, her hand still wrapped tightly around Yang’s. She looked back at the elderly woman, who was staring forwards, sorrow and nostalgia making their way across her expression.

With a gentle tug, Summer pulled Yang’s attention back to her, her gaze shifting to fall on the young girl. Yang looked at her student, who stared back with an expression of encouragement, waiting for Yang to take the first step. Shaking herself from the wave of emotions, Yang looked at her feet, still frozen to her spot in the hallway. She hesitated once more, but another soft squeeze gave her the courage she needed, stepping forwards into the room.

Another step, then another, brought her inside completely. Summer still didn’t let go of her hand, acting almost as an anchor to the woman. Yang didn’t know if the girl fully understood how much she was helping, but she was grateful nonetheless. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, taking in the pictures and framed certificates, the articles of clothing hung around the room, the unloaded weaponry that still shone bright, despite the layer of dust on everything.

Another tug on her hand drew her attention back to Summer, who gestured with her head towards the windows, covered with thick black curtains. The young girl’s eyes studied her own, waiting for permission, before Yang nodded, allowing herself to be pulled gently towards them. They each took a side, Summer finally letting go of Yang’s hand, reaching out to grab a fistful of the thick fabric. Yang copied her motion, glancing back to the girl.

“We’ll do it on three, alright?” Summer asked, watching Yang carefully, “we’ll do it together.”

Yang nodded, listening to the girl count down.

On three, they pulled on their own curtain, and the light poured in. The curtains shook up dust, which spiraled in the light, dust motes floating through the air. Light spread across the room slowly, spilling in and across surfaces that hadn’t seen the light of day for many years. The room came to life, the darkness lifting to reveal colours and details that couldn’t be seen before. The weapons shone brighter than before, the glass on photographs and frames reflecting as well. The clothing came to life as the vibrant colours returned to them – the jackets and scarves, the sashes and shirts, the cloak in the corner.

Yang took a deep breath at the sight – it hurt to see it all again. It was an ache in her chest, as if her heart was crying out, but in some ways, it was almost good to see the things again. While it reminded her of so many things she’d lost, it had never seemed right to hide the relics of her past away in the dark – and now, seeing them in the light once more, she realized that they weren’t fit for the darkness at all.

A sound of movement drew her attention to the girl at her side, Summer was literally shaking on the spot, restrained excitement causing her to quiver. She was watching Yang, waiting for permission – which the brawler gave with a small nod of her head. Summer giggled and took off, sounds of awe and glee echoing in the room as she raced around, taking in all the sights at once. She stared at pictures, at clothing, but her true delight lay in the weapons, which she studied intently, mouth wide open in shock.

Yang smiled, a small giggle slipping out at Summer’s reaction. It drew the girl’s attention back to her, and Summer raced up to her side, grabbing her hand once more and pulling her forwards. They moved towards a cabinet in the corner, in which hung Myrtenaster, polished bright. The dust chambers had been empty, but remained filled with colour, stained and dyed from years of use.

“What is _that?_ ” Sumer asked, pointing towards the sword.

Yang chuckled before answering.

“That,” Yang replied, “is Myrtenaster. It was Weiss’ weapon.”

“Weiss used that?”

At Yang’s nod, Summer squinted at the weapon, then at the brawler, then back at the weapon.

“Well,” she said after a moment’s contemplation, “it suits Weiss far more than it suits _you_.”

Yang snorted, rolling her eyes, before Summer’s next question came.

“Which one is your weapon, anyways?”

Yang lifted any eyebrow, before she pointed to a corner cabinet, on which rested Ember Celica and Gambol Shroud. Summer giggled and took off towards it, coming to a stop and leaning in close to examine the yellow gauntlets.

They were scuffed and worn from years of use, blackened at the edges from her semblance and shotgun bursts, but still shone bright. Yang came up to stand by Summer, reaching out a hand to grab hold of the right gauntlet. Engaging the switch, it slowly creaked back into bracelet form, prompting a sound of delight from Summer.

Yang knelt down, gesturing for Summer’s arm – the girl immediately thrust her hand out, giggling with barely restrained excitement. Yang slipped the bracelet on – loose didn’t cover it – and kept hold of her arm as she reengaged the gauntlet. The weight pulled on Summer’s arm, and she gasped at the sudden heaviness, but Yang kept it from falling to the floor. Once the girl had gotten used to the weight she let go, letting Summer move her arm every which way, examining how the grossly oversized gauntlet looked on her.

After a couple of minutes of examination, Summer pushed her arm back to Yang, who laughed at the movement.

“Getting heavy?” she asking, smirking.

Summer scowled, but nodded in reply.

Yang removed the gauntlet carefully, slipping it back onto its stand. Summer had already moved on, examining Blake’s weapon. She reached out a hand, nearly pushing the trigger – Yang yelped, grabbing her hand before she could properly execute the action.

“Ever gone to a museum?” she asked her student, who nodded in confusion, “Remember what they tell you?”

Summer thought long and hard for a moment, before realization lit up her face, and she turned to grin at Yang.

“Don’t touch anything?”

“ _Exactly_.”

“You’re no fun,” Summer replied, pouting slightly.

“Oh, I’m plenty fun. I just don’t enjoy being nearly beheaded by a suddenly engaged weapon.”

“But that’s the best part!”

Yang rolled her eyes as Summer laughed, keeping an eye on the young girl as she continued to explore the room. They continued in this way, talking animatedly as Summer asked questions, and Yang dutifully answered them. They covered the items in the room methodically, team by team. Sun’s pendant and shirt, Neptune’s jacket and goggles; Velvet’s box, Coco’s sunglasses; Pyrrha’s sash, Jaune’s sweater, Nora’s gloves, Ren’s jacket. Summer, predictably, loved team RWBY’s items the most – Blake’s vest, Gambol Shroud; Weiss’s jacket and hairpin, Myrtenaster; Ruby’s belt, cloak, and Crescent Rose.

As Yang went through everything, slowly explaining the items and what they meant, she felt the pain lessening, easing up slowly until it was nothing more than a dull ache. They covered the items of the teams, then moved on to more miscellaneous things she’d collected over the years – including one of her most prized possessions: one of Roman Torchwick’s stupid bowler hats.

Eventually, they ran out of items to cover, and Summer moved on to the photographs and articles on the wall, studying each of them intently. Yang watched her from the corner by the window, attention lifting when a question rang out across the room.

“Is that Velvet?”

Yang got up to look at the picture Summer was pointing at, then laughed loudly when she realized which one it was.

“Yup,” she replied, giggling mirthfully, “that’s Velvet.”

She reached out to pull the photo gently off of its hook, smiling at the sight. It was one of her favorite photographs – Velvet, Coco, and herself all sat at a bar, grinning wildly as they lifted their drinks. They were in their twenties, candid and grinning, a timeless snapshot of their life. Summer smiled at her reaction to the picture, standing on her toes to look at it.

“It looks like there’s a story to that one,” she said, grinning up at Yang, who laughed in reply.

“Oh, there definitely is,” Yang answered, sitting down with the picture, Summer taking a place beside her, “Velvet, surprisingly, could hold her liquor better than anyone else I knew. Coco and I always used to get her into drinking competitions at local pubs – no one would believe she’d win until she’d outdrunk the poor sucker by a ton. I only ever saw her drunk once – and that was after she’d outdrunk half the bar. Swore like a sailor, scared the crap out of Sun in doing so.”

Yang smiled at the memory, tapping the frame as she spoke.

“This photo was actually taken not too far from here,” she said, “this big famous hunter had come to the city and, well, he had quite the ego. Coco and I didn’t like him very much, and Coco _really_ wanted to teach this guy a lesson, so she bet that Velvet could outdrink him. The guy was so hung up on himself that he bet if she beat him, he’d buy all the drinks in the bar that night.”

Yang smirked, glancing at Summer, who listened with wide eyes.

“We certainly had a lot of free drinks that night.”

They shared a laugh at that, before Summer reached out to take the photograph from Yang. They sat in silence for a moment, the young girl studying the picture intently, lost in thought. Then, out of nowhere, she spoke a question that made Yang pause to think.

“Will you tell me about them?”

Yang frowned, turning to raise an eyebrow at Summer. The girl wasn’t looking at her, instead focusing her gaze on the picture. After a moment, Yang replied, confusion thick in her tone.

“I have told you about them.”

Summer had begun shaking her head before Yang had finished her sentence.

“No, I mean…”

Her words trailed off, the girl clearly unsure of herself. Summer bit her lip, as if afraid to finish her statement. Yang reached out to place a large, warm palm on top of the young girl’s hand. Summer’s gaze met hers, a nervous gaze meeting an encouraging one.

“Just tell me,” Yang said softly, “I won’t get mad. I promise.”

Summer stayed quiet for a moment, before she looked up at Yang and began to speak.

“You’ve never really told me about _them_ ,” she explained, her voice steady, “I mean, you tell me a lot of stories, but they’re all about events. They’re about fights, or meetings, or other things that happened. But… you’ve never told me about the _people_. I know Weiss’ favorite form of attack, but I don’t know her favorite colour. I know the stories of these people, but I feel like… I know nothing about _them_.”

Yang was quiet for a moment, letting Summer’s words sink in.

It made sense, it really did – Summer was, in many ways, right. It wasn’t like Yang intended to withhold that information, but rather that she avoided having to, because that just reminded her of the people more than the stories they were involved in. It hurt to bring up the events she’d lived through, but it hurt more to bring up the people she had lived through them with.

But, Yang supposed, maybe that was what hurt her the most – and maybe that’s what she had to change.

“There’s a bandaid,” she began slowly, Summer looking towards her, “and then there’s the wound.”

Confusion passed across Summer’s face, but she said nothing, letting Yang keep talking.

“Both hurt, in some ways. Bandaids hurt to take off, when we leave them on too long. Wounds hurt, but they heal… or, well, they usually do.”

Yang paused, glancing at the photographs.

“Some don’t.”

She looked back at Summer, who stared back.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, “but in some ways, you have to choose between those two pains. Whether you cover up the wound, and face the pain later when you have to pull the bandaid off, or if you just let that wound hurt all the time, and heal.

See, when you lose people, that pain never really goes away. It’s a wound that never stops hurting – and maybe if you left it open, it’d eventually heal, but it hurts too much to do that. So you cover it up, and leave the bandaid on so long you forget about it. Because that helps, in some ways – it’ll still hurt sometimes, but it’s better than always feeling that pain.

That’s why… that’s why I don’t talk about _them_. It’s why I _can’t_ talk about them. Not because I don’t want to get over the pain, but because it’s easier to just pretend it isn’t there. When I tell stories about them, about their lives, about who they were – that’s the wound. And that hurts a lot, because they’re no longer here. But when I tell stories about the events they were in, that’s a little easier – it still hurts, but not nearly as much. It’s the bandaid.”

Yang stopped, lost in her own analogy. Summer looked even more confused than before, and glanced up at Yang.

“But… if you don’t cover a wound, doesn’t it get an infection?”

Yang sighed exasperatedly at the question.

“Alright, just… okay, screw the bandaid analogy. It was pretty crappy to begin with.”

Summer nodded in agreement; Yang looked unamused with the girl’s affirmation. There was silence for a moment more, before Yang continued in a low voice, deciding instead to simply be honest.

“It’s just… It hurts. It hurts to talk about the people I’ve lost.”

“Why?”

The question caught Yang off guard, derailing her thoughts momentarily.

“Why?” she repeated, looking confused.

Summer nodded.

“Well, I guess… because they’re no longer here,” Yang explained after a moment, “because talking about them reminds me that they used to be such a large part of my life, and now they’re gone. Because it reminds me that no matter what I do, or say, or how I act, I’m the last one here. I’m the one who has lost everyone I grew up with, everyone I loved. I’m the one who’s left behind to remember everyone who’s gone. And it hurts to talk about them, because it always reminds me of that fact.”

There was a long silence, before Summer spoke out tentatively.

“But… if you talk about them… then doesn’t that bring them back?”

Yang looked at her curiously, Summer seeming unsure of herself. The silence seemed to tell Summer it was alright to continue, so she did, her voice filled with a tone Yang had never heard her speak in before.

“It’s just… I mean, it seems like talking about them hurts. Well, I know it does – you just told me that. But it also seems that in telling me about them, you kind of bring them back?”

Summer pointed back to the photo of Velvet, Coco, and Yang.

“When you talk about them, you seem… happier. And sadder, all at the same time. I guess you’re both remembering how much you loved them, and how much you’ve lost, but it seems to me like they’re almost alive again.

“I don’t know Blake, or Velvet, or Weiss, or Ruby, and… and I never will. But when you talk about them, I _feel_ like I do. I feel like I was there to hear them laugh, to see them wave their hands when talking, to hear them yell about things they’re passionate, to see them smiling. I feel like they’re still alive, but I just can’t see them. Like they’re in another room, or something.”

Yang was without words, looking at her student with an expression of sadness, wonder, nostalgia, and understanding, all at once. Summer swallowed, finishing her tirade.

“I-I don’t know. I’m not you. But I think that if I feel like they’re alive, and I’ve never met them, then… you must too. You must feel like even if it hurts, it also feels good to remember who they were, to remember them even when they’re gone, because it almost makes them seem alive again.”

There was silence, as Summer stopped abruptly, as if afraid to get her last few words out. She paused, took a deep breath, then finally spoke.

“And Yang? Maybe… if you tell me about them, then… we can remember them together.”

The quiet returned, Summer at last out of words. Yang looked at her student, words and thoughts and memories rushing through her head. She had no words, no reply for the wisdom Summer had just given her – wisdom far, far beyond the girl’s years. And so, without words, Yang turned to the one gesture she could think of to convey how she felt.

Thin, but strong arms wrapped around smaller shoulders, photo frame pushed aside as Yang leaned forwards to hug her student. She felt the small, tentative hug back as Summer reached up to hold her teacher, returning the gesture. They sat in silence like that for a moment, Yang allowing her arms to say what her words could not. Then she grinned, and squeezed Summer even tighter, clenching her in one of her famous bear hugs.

Summer yelped, trying to tap out, as Yang laughed heartily before letting her go.

“Geez, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

Yang roared with laughter before answering her back.

“If I really wanted to do that, there’s a sword in that cabinet over there.”

“Well, for all I know, you’re a famed serial killer who strangles people to death – the suffocater!”

“That sounds more like a really bad wrestler’s name!”

The pair laughed for a moment, until eventually their giggles petered away, leaving the same silence as before.

“You’re right, though,” Yang said softly, Summer looking back up to her, “about it feeling like they’re alive again.”

She looked at her student, seeing in her eyes a comforting expression.

“Back when Pyrrha and Weiss were alive, it wasn’t so bad, talking about old friends. Because even if they were gone, sharing stories about them did always seem as if they were just somewhere else, out of sight. Talking about the dead with someone who knew them always did help… it just never seemed to work with those who didn’t know them at all.”

“Pyrrha and Weiss… they were the last of your friends to, um, pass away, right?”

Yang frowned in confusion.

“How’d you know that?”

“You just… you talk about them the most. Well, about them in the later years of your life. You’ve never mentioned how any of your friends… died, so I just guessed.”

Yang hummed, the noise an indication of the slight impression she felt over Summer’s deduction.

“Good guess,” she said, “yes, they were the last to pass away. Weiss, then Pyrrha. They’re the ones who made me this room, actually.”

“Really?”

“Well… yeah. After Ruby died, I put away all of my pictures, and hid them in boxes in this room with the rest of the stuff I still had. Weiss eventually found out and pestered me about it, but I think she realized that I couldn’t go through it all, not without breaking down. So, she and Pyrrha snuck into my house to put it all together when I was away one time. Neither of them told me about it, though – I think they wanted me to find it on my own.”

Yang smiled sadly at the memory, shrugging as she said her last words.

“I didn’t find it until after Weiss had passed away. Never really went in here – never thought to, either. I wish I had, though… then I would have been able to thank Weiss for it.”

“Thank her for setting up a room you never went into again?”

Yang shot Summer a look; the girl held up her hands innocently.

“I’m just saying,” she clarified.

Yang rolled her eyes, but nodded eventually.

“I guess you’ve got a point there,” Yang admitted, “but it always did hurt far too much to come in here alone. It’s one thing to stumble across a memory, but to walk into a room filled with them all? It’s too much at once.”

“Is that why you reacted the way you did when I came in here without permission?”

Yang nodded, remembering the incident. Summer was quiet for a moment, before she called out her mentor’s name.

“Yang?”

The woman in question quirked an eyebrow at her pupil, who repeated an earlier question.

“Will you tell me about them?”

Yang smiled this time, lines in her skin deepening as she did so.

“Sure, kiddo.”

The elderly woman rose slowly – Summer didn’t follow, but instead watched her actions. Yang walked slowly around the room, selecting photographs and articles from around the room, leaving patches on the walls where they had once been. She made her way back to Summer with an armful of frames and glass, and sat herself down in front of the young girl, setting down the objects.

Crossing her legs, she sat back, and pulled the first picture off the pile.

“Velvet Scarlatina,” she said, pointing to the Faunus in the frame, “one of the brightest dust mages our school has ever produced – minus Weiss, of course.”

“Of course,” Summer echoed, grinning.

“She was kind, and forgiving – when we were at school, she was bullied by this real jerk, Cardin Winchester, up until third year.”

“What happened then?”

Yang smirked, remembering the memory fondly.

“He got his ass kicked by a Nevermore. His team was gone, and he was about to die, when Velvet came out of nowhere. With her hearing, she’d heard him getting beaten, and came to rescue him. I asked her about it a couple of years later, why she’d chosen to save him – and she told me that even if he was the most despicable jerk she’d ever met, he was still a life, and as a huntress, it was her job to save him.”

Yang shook her head, smiling over the words.

“I could live another hundred years, and I still don’t think I’d ever be able to be as kind as she was. Or drink like her.”

Summer laughed, her finger tracing the edges of the face in the photo. Then she paused, looking concerned.

“How did she die?”

Yang took a deep breath, not having expected the question.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to!” Summer clarified immediately, worry in her tone, “I just… I heard that a lot of hunters and huntresses died in the line of duty.”

Yang shook her head at this.

“Velvet didn’t die in the line of duty,” she said softly, “but the rest of her team did.”

Summer looked back up at Yang, wide eyes filled with sorrow.

“There was… a plan, when we were about forty. There was some big plot, some idea that gathering tons of Grimm together and killing them all at once would solve the problem of them forever. I think it came from an old fairy tale; either way, it wasn't a good idea. That many Grimm at once... it was amazing nothing happened sooner. CFVY found a holding cell for them at one point, before any of us really knew about the plan. They did their best to destroy it, but there were a lot of Grimm, and...”

Yang paused for a moment, holding back the painful memories, the day she'd first received the news.

"Velvet was the only team member who managed to get out of there alive."

She looked back to find Summer’s eyes filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, no… It’s… It’s alright. It was a long time ago. It was hard for us then, losing that many people – it was really, really hard on Velvet, losing her entire team. But they protected a lot of people – not only in killing as many Grimm as they did, but also by finding out about the plan and keeping Velvet alive to let everyone know. Without that, we never would have known about it, and a lot more people would have died. They died as heroes.”

Summer nodded, though the tears didn’t go away.

“And Velvet?” she asked.

“Velvet…” Yang smiled sadly, “there was a disease that hit Vale about twenty years ago or so. Faunus were really susceptible to it, and Velvet… Velvet was the first friend we lost to it.”

Summer was quiet for a moment.

“That’s really sad,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

“What did you expect?” Yang asked, chuckling softly, “I’m talking about my dead friends.”

Summer threw a light punch at her teacher, before she moved Velvet’s photograph off to one side. The next picture on the pile was of Sun and Neptune, arms across one another’s shoulders, grinning widely.

“Whoa,” Summer breathed, “check out those sideburns.”

Yang laughed heartily at this.

“That,” she said, still grinning widely, “would be Sun. The blue haired dork is Neptune. They went to a different school, but they were always getting mixed up in our schemes, and fought with us on a lot of missions.”

She pointed to Neptune’s goggles in the photograph, then to the ones hanging over on the wall.

“We always used to tease Neptune about being nerdy; he’d correct us by saying ‘intellectual.’ But he was always really helpful in strategy situations, so we let up on him eventually. Sun was the prankster in our group of friends – we joined forces a lot, especially against Weiss, until she joined up with Nora and took us both down. He never did like wearing shirts – Coco always tried to beat him to death with her handbag for it – but he was a pretty swell guy. Always energetic, but super level-headed in combat situations.”

She smiled at the picture, tapping her finger on it.

“Sun died in battle,” she said, shaking her head slightly, “Neptune was never really the same after it. He went on to teach a lot of the time – but he got ill when he was eighty. Never really recovered from it; died from a heart attack at eighty two.”

The photo went to the side, revealing underneath a picture of a man holding his school portrait – the adult Jaune with his former, baby-faced self.

“That’s Jaune, isn’t it.”

It was more of a statement than a question – Yang couldn’t hold her chuckles back over it.

“Yup, that’s Jaune! Our own beloved lady-killer wannabe.”

Summer laughed at this, as if the photo itself told her of all the stories of Jaune’s flirting attempts.

“Seriously,” Yang continued, “he asked out Weiss so many times at Beacon – well, at least until Weiss kicked his ass for it, then handed him over to Pyrrha to lecture him on treating girls well. He was a kid a lot of the time back then – and he wasn’t as good as everyone else at Beacon, at least in the beginning. But he worked harder than any of us, and was equal by the time we graduated.”

She paused, smiling faintly at the picture; Jaune looked distinctly unamused by the setting, whereas Nora could be found in the background, laughing hysterically.

“We really did tease him a lot, but Jaune might have been the most heroic out of all of us.”

This caught Summer’s attention, and she looked up at Yang curiously.

“After CFVY died in battle, minus Velvet, we all got together to figure out the plan, and stop it before all the Grimm could get together. Took us a while, but we eventually found the main den they were keeping them all in, and went off to destroy it. Jaune was seriously injured in the fight, as was… as was Ruby, but both of them recovered. But Jaune always had a limp after that, and couldn’t run as quickly anymore – so his team made sure to take on easier missions, until one of them got complicated, real fast.

They were up in this old village, when suddenly an underground nest of Grimm broke out onto the surface – Jaune had plenty of aura, and healed up his teammates, before making them finish the evacuation of the village while he held them off. He received three awards for his bravery – making him the most highly decorated Arc in his family history.”

Yang smiled, shaking her head.

“It’s just a pity he wasn’t around to see it happen.”

Summer nodded, moving Jaune aside, but not before taking a moment to study the man in the picture.

Nora lay underneath, a snapshot of her leaning on her hammer, grinning and mock saluting the person taking the picture.

“Nora,” Yang clarified, grinning widely at the sight, “one of my favorite people at Beacon. We got in a lot of trouble together – in fact, Glynda Goodwitch, the headmistress, banned us from being within a five meter radius of one another. Made group work really hard sometimes. But we got along great – whenever we fought together, we had this double attack to clear out wreckage and take down armoured Grimm – our attack power together was _insane_. We figured out how insane one time at Beacon during a training session – blew out half the building by accident.”

Yang laughed at the memory as Summer chuckled.

“I think you would have liked Nora,” Yang said, drawing Summer’s attention back to her, “you probably would have gotten along together very well, at the expense of half the neighbourhood.”

“Really?” Summer exclaimed, laughing as she returned to studying the photo.

“Yup,” Yang answered, smiling at the sight, “She would have liked you a lot. Probably would have called you the “freckle buddies” or something.”

Summer laughed again. Yang waited for it to peter out before finishing her story.

“Nora died protecting her own home village,” she said softly, “but I know that there was no other way she would have wanted to go out.”

Summer traced the edge of the frame, before she quietly asked Yang a question.

“How old was she?”

Yang hummed, taking a moment to remember.

“Pretty young, if you compare her to me. So was Jaune, now that I think about it. Old for the profession, but then again, we all were. Nora was sixty-four, Jaune was fifty-two.”

Summer nodded, moving the photo aside. Yang squinted slightly, confused over the nature of the question.

“Why?”

Summer didn’t reply for a moment.

“I wanted to know how long you’d been without her.”

Yang didn’t reply, instead letting Summer move on to the next photograph.

“Nora again?”

Yang smiled sadly, moving the finger placed on Nora to the figure that sat beside her.

“Ren,” she clarified, “Nora’s other half.”

Summer looked up at this, not really quite sure what Yang meant. The brawler sighed, then smiled at the girl.

“Ren and Nora were friends since they were young. None of us were every really sure how young, but they were inseparable, despite being complete opposites. Ren was quiet, contemplative, and didn’t speak much. Nora, on the other hand, was crazily exuberant, loud, and spoke her mind nonstop. Yet they got along perfectly, and fought together great, too.

“I knew Ren well enough to know he didn’t know anyone as closely as he ever did Nora. So it makes sense that when Nora passed away, Ren was… well, he was never quite the same. I never thought he could get quieter, but he did – he was always kind of off after that, as if he’d lost everything. Which, I guess, he had – or at least, his other half.”

Yang tapped his picture, drawing Summer’s attention back to it.

“I don’t think anyone is particularly happy when someone dies,” she finished, “but when Ren fell into a coma, then passed away in his sleep, we all hoped that wherever he had gone, he was back alongside Nora. Maybe making pancakes in the afterlife, or something.”

Summer giggled at the last part.

“So he was the one who made all those really good pancakes?”

“That’s him,” Yang affirmed with a chuckle, her giggles continuing as Ren and Nora slid off to the side, Summer’s fingers tapping them both.

Pyrrha Nikos lay below, in the most ungraceful photo Yang owned of her. She was mid snort, when her laughter had gone out of control after something Blake had said – her hair was frenzied, her eyes twinkling with mirth, her face scrunched up, frozen in laughter. It was quite possible Yang’s favorite photo. Summer, on the other hand, seemed confused by it, squinting at the unflattering expression on her face.

“Isn’t this _the_ Pyrrha Nikos?” she asked in confusion, looking back up to her mentor, who smiled warmly.

“Nah,” Yang answered, only deepening her confusion, “it’s _just_ Pyrrha Nikos.”

At the clear lack of understanding on Summer’s face, Yang laughed and clarified.

“Pyrrha was always seen as this incredible, perfect goddess of a woman. And don’t get me wrong, she kind of was – but she was also human. She made mistakes, she didn’t always know the answer, and she definitely didn’t look perfect in every photograph.”

She pointed to the picture as she stated her last words, then frowned. Pyrrha actually didn’t look that bad in it – if there was such a thing as an attractively ugly expression, Pyrrha had perfected it.

“Anyways,” Yang continued, “that’s why I always chose this photo of her. Pyrrha wasn’t perfect, and hated it when people put her up on a pedestal – so I made sure I never did. Even goddesses can have ugly pictures.”

Summer laughed, finally getting the concept.

“So she asked you to use the worst photo you had of her?”

“Well, not exactly,” Yang admitted sheepishly, “but it never felt right to use anything else. Pyrrha was great, and I always admired her, but I never looked up to her. I looked right at her – never believed we were on different levels like so many did. So I always showed this photo of her – and believe me, she always showed a terrible one of me, too.”

Summer looked around immediately, trying to find it.

“I burned it,” Yang clarified, stifling a chuckle at Summer’s visible deflation, “as best a friend as Pyrrha was, that was the worst photo in Remnant of me.”

Summer pouted, clearly displeased with her mentor’s decision.

“In any case,” Yang continued, “Pyrrha was amazing, but she was also one of my closest, greatest friends. The fact she lived almost as long as I did helped.”

“Really? She was that old?”

“Yes,” Yang replied, ignoring the quip about her own age, “Pyrrha passed on when she was ninety. She wasn’t in the line of duty as a huntress anymore, but rather as a teacher – and when one of her students got trapped in a fire, she went in to save him. She made it out just fine, but her lungs didn’t last long after that. Stopped breathing in her sleep, but not before telling me that she was sorry for leaving me to be the last one.”

Summer was quiet after Yang stated that – in fact, the brawler had a feeling she might have known how Pyrrha passed away. But as the photo moved aside, all thoughts about knowledge of friends was quickly pushed aside – Blake was in the next photograph.

Summer heard her sharp intake of breath, looking up at her mentor in time to watch Yang’s expression change from shock, to sorrow, to happiness.

“Blake,” Summer said simply, watching Yang nod in return.

“Blake,” the brawler repeated, smiling at her partner’s photograph, “my partner in crime for so many years.”

She shifted on the spot, a hand coming up to touch the black ribbon on her arm.

“She was a Faunus, like Autumn. She hid it from us at first, eventually the truth came out, even if it wasn’t pleasant. We resolved it though, and Blake told us about her past – she used to be a member of the White Fang, before it turned into the terrorist organization people remember it to be.”

Summer looked confused over that – Yang realized that she might not have known the White Fang at all. They’d dismantled it as a team, taking out the leaders, and at last bringing peace to the organization that had truly fallen years beforehand. But that had been a long time ago – and Yang wasn’t even sure that the current generation knew of the troubles of the past.

“Do you know who the White Fang used to be?”

Summer nodded, dispelling Yang’s doubts.

“Yeah, but… I didn’t know they had good people in it.”

Yang smiled, shaking her head. It figured that when history was said and done, only the bad remained for the defeated.

“They weren’t bad at first,” she said, “I wasn’t there, and I’m not a Faunus, so I can’t really say exactly how it used to be. But Blake told us all that they were once a peaceful organization, and it was only under new leadership that they became dangerous. She left when that happened, then helped to destroy what had become of her past allies.

“That was always one of my favorite things about Blake – her passion to do what was right. She once told me she wasn’t always sure what was right – and honestly, that definition changes depending on the situation and who you were talking to – but Blake always stuck to her own beliefs, and helped those who needed it. She believed in defending the innocent, and she always did, even if it meant becoming guilty herself.”

Yang smiled, feeling tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I was often called the light,” she explained, “because Blake was the shadow. Unseen by many, but helping all. I just… I wish I could have helped her when she needed it most.”

Summer looked up at her, her own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Why couldn’t you?”

“No one could have,” Yang clarified, “she… she got sick too, like Velvet. There wasn’t really a cure back then, and… and all you could do was say goodbye and wait for it to happen.”

Summer looked back to the photo, and with her finger traced the ears upon Blake’s head.

“Did it hurt?”

Yang smiled, the answer to that question welcome.

“No,” she said simply, “that was the one thing we could be thankful for.”

Summer nodded, before handing the photograph to Yang. The brawler startled, taking it as she looked at her pupil, who watched her with saddened eyes. Yang looked down at the photo, smiling sadly at the partner she’d trusted her life with many, many times over again. The Faunus sat staring out the window, her chin resting on one hand, the other placed on the book in her lap. It was so familiar, so much like the past that Yang couldn’t help but smile wide in spite of the sadness filling her at the sight.

With a deep breath, she moved the photograph to her side, finding Weiss looking back at her.

“Aha!” she laughed loudly, causing Summer to jump slightly, “the ice queen returns!”

Summer snorted, giggling at the nickname, despite having no idea the meaning behind the name.

“Seriously, Summer,” Yang chastised, “you couldn’t have figured out her favorite colour? Not only does she wear it nonstop, her name _translates_ to it.”

Summer grumbled as Yang laughed heartily, before settling down and speaking again.

“But yes, we did always call Weiss the ice queen. Or, “Weiss Cream,” if I was feeling particularly brave. That joke often ended with a frozen limb or two. But despite our differences, Weiss and I got along pretty well later in life. It just took us a while to find common ground, like I told you earlier.”

Summer nodded, focusing back on the picture.

“So she inherited the SDC?”

“She was supposed to,” Yang clarified, “but chose to be a huntress instead, and left that behind. She returned to it later, once her sister had basically destroyed the company, and fixed a lot of things. Weiss didn’t like to admit that she was wrong, but she was once, in a while. The good thing about her was that when she was wrong, she’d immediately look for how she should change, so she wasn’t in the wrong anymore. It was one of the likeable things about her, alongside her endless bank account.”

Summer chuckled, glancing at the wall, to where a familiar hairpin was placed beside a white jacket, emblazoned with a well known crest.

“Did she get sick, too?”

Yang shook her head, smiling.

“No, actually. We always used to tease Weiss that nothing would dare “ruin the image of a Schnee.” We generally meant pimples and such, but when she got really old, I began to tease her that it related to death, too. That nothing would dare take out Weiss Schnee, the great and terrible. And that became kind of true, too.”

Yang grinned, her sadness trumped by the satisfaction of a joke come true.

“Weiss passed away in her sleep, simply of old age. Her heart gave out, I think. Like I said, nothing would dare take her out, except the one thing she couldn’t avoid – old age.”

Summer giggled, shaking her head. She gave the photo of Weiss to Yang as well, who was ready for it this time – she happily accepted the picture of the former heiress, reaching out and gently flicking her friend’s forehead, chuckling as though she could hear the reprimanding replies even now.

They’d come to the final frame of the pile – a picture of a woman who reminded Yang so much of the first Summer she’d come to know, it almost hurt to look at it. Ruby sat before the pair, posing with her scythe over her shoulder, flashing a peace sign and a wide grin to the person taking the picture. Summer studied it for a moment, before looking up at Yang and speaking a single word.

“Ruby.”

Yang nodded, words not quite with her. Summer turned her attention back to the photo, taking in the image of the young woman before her.

“She has Autumn’s smile,” Summer muttered, prompting a chuckle from her teacher.

“Technically,” Yang corrected, “Autumn has Ruby’s smile. But yes, they do look similar.”

She shifted as she spoke, shaking her head.

“Kinda freaks me out every time I see you two together.”

“Because she reminds you of Ruby?”

“Not just Ruby,” Yang clarified, “of myself, too.”

Summer wrinkled her nose at this, clearly displease with being compared to her teacher.

“Hey!” Yang cried indignantly, leaning forwards and flicking Summer’s forehead, “don’t make that face. And I didn’t mean that I thought of you as myself, you moron. I just meant that you two are sisters in the same way Ruby and I were.”

At this, Summer stopped rubbing her forehead, looking back up at Yang with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

“What do you mean?”

Yang sighed, dropping back into her usual sitting position.

“Ruby and I weren’t full sisters,” she said, her voice growing quieter, “we had different mothers. Mine disappeared when I was little, and Ruby’s mom, Summer, took care of us both.”

The young girl looked up at the name, brow furrowed.

“Her name was Summer too?”

Yang nodded, chuckling softly.

“You’re actually not the first Summer I’ve met,” she said, “but the second. It’s why when you first told me your name, I nearly had a heart attack.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that didn’t happen. Then I wouldn’t have had anyone to tease about being a grandma!”

Summer held up the picture as a shield after her comment, warding off Yang’s incoming hand. The brawler sighed, pulling it back.

“Well, anyways,” she continued, “as I was saying, Ruby’s mom took care of us both. And when she died, I looked after Ruby, and we were really close. It’s why when I see you too together, I’m reminded of how we were at that age.”

Summer nodded, placing the photograph back down on her lap.

“How did she die?”

It wasn’t the first time Yang had heard the question in the last hour, but it was the first time she’d taken as long as she did to answer it.

“Ruby always told me it wasn’t my fault.”

Summer’s head snapped up at this, worried eyes focusing in on her mentor.

“But I never got over feeling like it was. When we took out that den I told you about, the one that killed team CFVY, Ruby got injured in the fight. We were tag team fighting it – Blake and I, Weiss and Ruby – when Blake and I got ambushed by a larger group. I managed to get Blake out of there just fine – pretty much threw her overtop a pack of beowolves, telling her to find Ruby and Weiss, then faced the horde by myself.”

Yang’s voice lowered, and she looked down into her lap.

“I fought them off for a long time – killed most of them too. But I missed the Deathstalker behind me, and it would have killed me, had Ruby not gotten in the way.”

She left out the details, knowing better than to frighten Summer, but couldn’t help the way her voice shook.

“Ruby survived, and was okay after that – but it took her a long time to heal, and her huntressing career was over. I know it wasn’t my fault, but I always felt like if I had been more careful, she wouldn’t have had to hurt herself to save me. I was the big sister, I was meant to protect her – not the other way around.”

“But she was okay, right? I mean, she healed afterwards.”

Yang smiled, shaking her head sadly.

“She was fine for a couple of years,” she clarified, “but Deathstalker venom makes the body susceptible to infections. Ruby was alright for a while, but then…”

Yang’s voice trailed off, leaving the silence to fill the room.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Yang’s head rose to look at her pupil, tears slowly making their way down her face.

“Ruby said herself, right? It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

Yang smiled, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

“I know that,” she said.

Summer looked confused, as though she’d expected Yang to argue back.

“I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it,” Yang explained, “I know it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have seen it coming. But there will always be that guilt, always be that worry. What the mind knows the heart won’t always accept.”

Summer nodded at this, before holding out Ruby’s picture to her teacher.

Yang took it with shaking hands, smiling at her sister, who would always return the grin. She placed it in her lap, the picture of Weiss on her left, of Blake on the right. Back with her team once more.

“Did it help?”

Yang looked up at the comment, confused.

“What?”

Summer looked down at her feet, seemingly embarrassed.

“Did talking about them help?”

Yang paused, thinking about it. It still hurt – but it always would, and she knew that. It was an ache that filled her heart, spread to her bones, and did indeed remind her of what she had lost, of what she could never reclaim. She looked around the room, at the relics and reminders of people and places, of times gone by. It hurt, but at the same time, she could feel herself moving on. She wasn’t forgetting the past, she was bringing it with her into the future.

Glancing down at her lap, Yang realized that it had helped. Talking about them, telling Summer had hurt, but it had helped. And in that moment, Yang felt the world around her change. It was as if, for a moment, the sun brightened, as though the air cleared of dust, as though standing in the room were the people she had lost long ago.

As if laughter shook the rafters, knocking the dust down onto them. As though the chatter of voices filled the room once more, the sounds of her friends filling the air. As if around her was her family, laughing and sharing memories. As though friends surrounded her, talking loudly and telling jokes. As if around her stood her team, giggling and teasing one another.

As though everyone she’d lost was still there, still laughing, still smiling, just in a place she could not see. Out of sight, but never out of mind.

Then the feeling faded, leaving behind the empty room, but for her and Summer. The light seemed to grow dim, though that could be attributed to the setting sun. The quiet returned, a comfortable silence that was common around the teacher and her student.

Yang sighed, before looking back at Summer. The young girl was watching her with uncertainty, eyes studying her face closely. Yang smiled warmly, sadness and happiness mixing into the expression.

“Yeah, Summer. It helped.”

The girl returned her smile in tenfold, the grin splitting her cheeks.

“I’m happy about that,” she said earnestly, shrugging slightly, “I was afraid it’d just make you sadder.”

Yang giggled at that.

“Oh, it did,” she clarified, “but it also helped. So thank you, Summer.”

The girl smiled back at her.

“Thanks for telling me about them.”

Yang grinned at that, then stretched, feeling the joints in her back pop. Ignoring the giggles emanating from her student, she looked at the darkening sky, realizing just how long they’d been sitting in the room.

“What do you say we get you home for dinner, huh?” she asked, standing up slowly. Summer, with the energy appropriate for her age, bounded up to her feet.

“Sounds good,” she said, with a wide grin, “let’s go!”

“Hang on,” Yang said, collecting the photos up and returning them to their spots on the wall. She took a moment with Ruby’s, before it too was hung back up. Summer waited in her spot, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Lead the way,” Yang said, gesturing to the door.

Summer made a noise of happiness, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the door. As Yang reached for the handle on their way out to close the door behind them, Summer smacked her hand away.

“Nuh-uh,” she reprimanded, pointing her finger at Yang threateningly, “you gotta leave the door open. It’s all stuffy in here.”

The words were out before Yang could stop them.

“Leaving the door open won’t really fix that,” she shot back, “the windows would let in better fresh air.”

Summer’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, but she didn’t say anything in return – Yang had made the suggestion, after all. Internally groaning at herself, Yang turned to walk back towards the windows. Once she reached them, however, she hesitated, then turned to look behind her.

Summer stared back, saying nothing, letting the brawler reach the decision on her own. Yang’s eyes fell on the clothes, the weapons, the objects scattered throughout the room, the dust motes swirling in the air. Then her gaze shifted to the windows, to the last barrier between her past and the outside world. She took a moment, breathing in, then cracked the window open.

She moved methodically from one window to another, letting the warm summer air rush in. When they were all open, she took a step back, and it was then that the wind rustled the papers and fabrics, stirring a familiar scent into the air. The faint smell of roses and gunpowder, of familiar perfumes and colognes, of clothes and old books filled the air, bringing with it memories. It hung in the air for a moment, Yang breathing it in, and then it was gone, whisked away into the evening air.

The sound of the world outside filled the room, and Yang turned back to face Summer, who was watching her with a proud smile on her face. The girl beckoned with a tilt of her head, then left the doorway, waiting for Yang to follow. And follow Yang did, leaving behind the empty room.

The pair retreated down the hallway, their banter filling the air – Summer already asking for her own weapon, the sound of Yang knuckling her head, telling her it’d be a long time before she needed one. The sound faded, leaving behind the quiet silence in the open room, empty, yet filled with a world discovered once again.

* * *

  _Today is Summer’s birthday. She is nine._ The day is warm, the sun shining down on the people below. It’s later in the afternoon, relief from the heat sought out in the shade, shadows pooling below houses and fences, trees and porches. On one such porch sits a familiar family, their laughter filling the backyard, drifting to the neighbours over the tops of fences.

Scarla, Summer, and Autumn sit at a small wooden table, cards scattered across the surface, edges dampened by sweating glasses of lemonade. Rowan stands nearby, manning a barbeque, the smoke and smell wafting over to the three girls. The pair of daughters sit giggling as Scarla attempts to guess their card – a feat that isn’t too hard, considering that half the deck is visible on the table, but she gets it wrong either way, causing a wave of giggles to come from her girls.

As Summer and Autumn squabble over which card to have their mother guess next, the woman in question rests her head on her hand, glancing out at their empty backyard. Years before, in birthdays previous, friends and neighbours would have filled the space – now, the only ones present to celebrate her eldest daughter’s occasion are her immediate family, faithful to the last. Neither Scarla nor Rowan like to bring up the lack of people, lest they remind Summer of what had driven them away in the first place – a troublesome child, always with a temperature about average, always getting into fights.

Still, something prompts Scarla to address Summer, pulling her daughter’s attention away from the papers in her hands, momentarily.

“Why didn’t you invite Yang, Summer?” she asks, studying the girl’s reaction to her question, “I’m sure she would have appreciated the invite.”

Summer shrugs, already returning to the cards.

“I don’t know her all that well,” she explained, “and besides, she probably would have said no, just like everyone else.”

The simplicity of the statement does nothing to mask the truth of it. Scarla looks back to her husband, who has turned to watch the conversation unfold with worried eyes.

“You don’t know that, Summer,” Rowan interjects, voice calm and comforting, “she doesn’t live far, so I’m sure she would have stopped by, even for a little bit.”

Summer looks up at her parents, who stare back with worry in their eyes, even if it doesn’t show on their faces. After a moment, she nods, stealing a glance to her sister, even though the young girl hasn’t caught wind of the situation.

“Alright,” Summer replies, trying not to react to the obvious relief that passes across her parents faces, “I’ll invite her next year.”

Satisfied with that answer, Rowan nods and turns back to his cooking, Scarla leaning over the table, a hand outstretched to grab a card.

“Ready for me yet, girls?” she asks, laughing at Autumn’s giggles and rapid-fire denials.

Summer, on her own part, leans back in her own chair, out of her mother’s reach – Autumn then yelps and tries to catch her sister, worried that she might fall. Summer giggles at this, tilting her chair back to an upright position, reaching out to tap Autumn on her nose.

“I’m alright, silly,” she says, holding her arms out as if the gesture confirms it, “I didn’t fall.”

Autumn giggles at that, smiling up at her older sister. Then she frowns slightly, reaching up to her nose.

“Summer,” she mumbles, “you’re all warm again.”

Summer blinks at that, glancing at her hands – she doesn’t feel the warmth spreading through her veins, heating her fingertips, colouring her eyes. Scarla, however, laughs.

“Autumn,” she interrupts, drawing both daughters’ attention to herself, “I don’t think it’s Summer’s warmth showing up. I think it’s just warm outside, that’s all.”

The little Faunus’ face breaks into a grin at this, laughing as she apologizes to her sister. Summer giggles in return, telling her it’s alright. What Autumn says next, however, will remain with her for a long time after the rest of the conversation fades away.

“I don’t mind either way,” the younger girl admits, looking at her older sister with admiration in her eyes, “I like Summer’s warmth!”

Scarla smiles at that; Rowan too, though none of his family can see it. Both had been worried over Autumn’s reactions to Summer’s newfound – or, rather, newly named – semblance, but they were certainly pleased with the result. Summer had been worried as well – in fact, far more than she’d ever let on. Neighbours and classmates could fear her, that she didn’t mind. But for her own sister to dislike an important part of herself – Summer was far, far happier than her parents that that reality hadn’t come true.

As her sister continues with the tough decision of which card to pick next, Summer lets her thoughts drift – and drift they do to Yang. She doesn’t know the elderly woman very much at all, not yet; she knows that the woman always smells faintly of a lit firework, and that she has off-limit rooms in her house, but that’s about it. But still, despite not knowing much about her at all, Summer knows she trusts Yang.

Part of it comes from how they first met, and part of it is the fact Yang had come to seek her out first. But most of it, Summer knows, is that the elderly brawler knows what she is talking about. Scarla had, hestitantly, mentioned her being a huntress before – and while Summer doesn’t really know too much about that, she knows that it means Yang had fought with her semblance, and therefore had it under control. That, combined with the wisdom of years, and the confidence that found its way into Yang’s voice whenever she was teaching, gives Summer the trust she needed.

That trust in her teacher led to trust in her training – which, eventually, had taught her not to dislike her semblance as much. She still had times when she didn’t like it – particularly, the times she couldn’t get her emotions under control – but there were times when it did make her happy, make her proud. The fact Autumn liked it helped a lot, as well.

Though Summer hasn’t yet heard Yang speak about her semblance in great detail yet – nor the comment on how it both harms and helps – the young girl has started to see her semblance as something other than a burden. And that knowledge, though faint, and not fully believed in, will go a long way in helping her believe in herself.

Summer’s musings are interrupted then, loud giggles and shouts of glee coming from the sister beside her. Lost in thought, Summer hadn’t even noticed Autumn finally pick a card – but it appears that Scarla has finally guessed correctly, naming the card clenched in small hands. The queen of hearts smiles up at them all, sharing in their moment of delight and laughter.

With a loud laugh, Summer joins in, and the trio chuckle together until Rowan, smiling at their antics, gives a call to clear off the table. Minutes later, once the glasses are pushed to the side and the cards are stack in a relatively straight (depending on who you ask) pile, Rowan sets down a large plate of food, roasted to perfection.

As Summer steals a glance at the barbeque they’d come off of, she catches sight of the small flames flickering through the bars, licking the metal. Autumn traces her sister’s sight to them, then giggles and claps her hands excitedly, an idea coming to her.

“Hey, Summer!” she exclaims, bringing the attention of all to her, “do you think you can do that?”

A finger pointed at the barbeque explains to Summer all that she needs to know – and to her parents, as well.

“Autumn,” Scarla chastises gently, knowing how jokes about Summer’s semblance usually go over.

This time, however, Summer surprises them all by laughing, gesturing to the food on Autumn’s fork.

“Let’s give it a shot!” she says happily, watching the food hover over her hand. She closes her eyes, gives an exaggerated noise of concentration, and pops them back open a moment later. The same food sits before her, completely unchanged. Unfazed, the girl shrugs, hands up in a gesture of defeat.

“Guess I’m not quite there yet,” she admits, glancing at her sister, who giggles in reply, “looks like we’ll have to try again next year. And if I can’t do it then, I’m sure Yang can!”

At her joke, her parents and her sister break into laughter – none of it mean, simply going along with the punch line. Summer feels herself break into a wider smile, knowing for once how it feels for her semblance to be a topic of laughter, instead of worry or anger.

That feeling will stay with Summer for the rest of the afternoon, fading into the evening, when at last her cake appears, topped with glowing candles. And as Scarla sets it in front of her, Summer will watch the flames dance, flickering atop their wicks, hot wax slowly making its way down the candles. Nine flames, nine years – and as Autumn laughs and claps her hands, calling for her sister to make her wish, Summer realizes that, just maybe, her semblance isn’t such a bad thing after all.

And it’s then that her wish will change for the first time since she started making them – she wishes that she can protect Autumn’s laugh for as long as she can, with her own two hands.

* * *

 

Summer’s training finished on a hot day, one with a warmth surrounded people instead of stifling them, like a familiar blanket, or warm hands around a cold one. Yang and Summer agreed to meet in the same playground they’d first met in four seasons ago, but this time, they weren’t alone.

Yang laughed at the look on Summer’s face when she realized they weren’t training just by themselves – the young girl had been the last to arrive, told to run an errand on her way over, to give her family time to beat her to the playground. It wasn’t just Scarla, Rowan, and Autumn, either – several of her neighbours were gathered there, smiling at Summer’s surprise. Yang had recognized one of them instantly – it was in fact one of the neighbours who had slammed the door in her face when she’d gone looking for Summer, all those months ago. The woman had offered apology after apology, but Yang had brushed them all away with a laugh.

Now the reason for that apology stood before her, breathing heavily as though she’d run the distance to the park, holding in her arms a white box, tied with a thick yellow ribbon. Summer glared at her mentor, catching her breath before she stalked forwards, thrusting the package over to Yang.

“Here,” she growled, still slightly panting, “your package, madam.”

Yang laughed, dramatically curtseying in reply (she also silently thanked all the gods she knew of that her knees didn’t crack over the action). Summer scowled at the movement, crossing her arms angrily.

“Did you really call my mom and ask her to tell me to go pick up that box,” she asked, though her tone phrased it as more of a statement than anything else, “just to give everyone time to get here before me?”

“Give the lady a prize!”

The crowd around them laughed at their antics, especially at the part where Summer tried to tackle Yang about the knees, the former brawler holding her back with a firm hand planted on the girl’s head. The sound drew Summer’s attention back to them, and finally the realization that she wasn’t going to be training alone kicked in.

The girl backed away, her expression changing to one of confusion and apprehension. Yang dropped her hand, watching her student fold her hands together, twisting her fingers together with nervousness. The elderly woman knelt down to her level, poking her gently in the forehead to bring her attention back to her.

“Hey,” she said, though she already knew the answer to her question, “what’s wrong?”

Summer didn’t reply for a moment, before wide eyes sought out her teacher’s, anxiety in their depths.

“Are all those people going to watch my training?”

Yang nodded, gauging the girl’s reaction.

“Nervous?” the brawler asked, receiving a small nod in reply, “that’s understandable. But Summer? You shouldn’t be.”

The young girl looked at her, listening intently, confusion furrowing her brows. Yang smiled warmly, encouragement in her own expression.

“I have nothing left to teach you,” she explained, raising her voice enough to drift to those nearby, “as of our last lesson, you finished your training. The reason everyone is here today is to show them how far you’ve come; to show them what you’re capable of.”

She dropped her voice then, low and steady, so that only the girl in front of her could hear her following words.

“You’re no longer the little girl with the out of control semblance, Summer. You’ve come so far from that; you’ve gotten your semblance under control, and you can even do some pretty impressive things with it, too.”

Summer’s worry had faded from her eyes – a bit of it still lingered deep within them, but for the most part it was gone, replaced by anticipation and steely resolve.

“You can do this, Summer. I know you can, and you know you can.”

Yang reached out a finger, gently prodding her student’s chest.

“Now it’s time to make them know it, too.”

Summer smiled, all traces of apprehension gone. Yang returned the grin, the expression now a familiar one around her student. Then she smirked, closing her eyes and willing the small flame inside her own heart to grow.

With a quick movement, she reached out her hand, snapping her fingers in front of the young girl’s face. Sparks leapt, causing Summer to blink, but she didn’t flinch away, nor did her eyes grow red. Instead, she shot Yang an irritated glare, before reaching out her own hand and snapping it before her mentor’s face, a flame flickering to life, whisked out a moment later.

Yang laughed at the reaction, ruffling the girl’s hair. The traces of the girl who Yang had first met nearly a year ago were gone, replaced by someone with her powers under control, but her snarky self remaining. Summer, predictably, made a noise of displeasure and tried to bat Yang’s hand away. The former blonde laughed, pulling back her hand.

“Ready, kiddo?”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” came the reply, then, “but yeah. I am.”

Yang chuckled, straightening up to address the crowd.

“Family and neighbours,” she began, catching their attention, “we are gathered here today–”

“What is this, a marriage ceremony?”

Yang shot her student a glare at the interruption, ignoring the giggles that came from those watching.

“Fine,” Yang replied, turning back to the crowd, “We are gathered here today to see the fine progress of the girl who terrorized your neighbourhood, lit things on fire, and beat up your children.”

She turned back to Summer, who didn’t seem bothered by the commentary in the least.

“Better?”

Summer stuck out her tongue in response, causing more laughter to erupt from their audience. Yang rolled her eyes.

“In any case,” she continued, “I called you all here so that you could see, with your own eyes, just how far Summer’s come in the past year. As many of you know, I took to teaching Summer once I realized that she had the same semblance as mine – and, like me, unlocked it at a very young age.”

Behind Yang’s back, Summer blinked at that news; Yang probably didn’t realize it, but while she’d let Rowan and Scarla both know that information, it had never made its way to Summer. Yang continued, unaware of her student’s reaction.

“I offered to teach Summer, and we’ve come a long way from the girl who all but burst into flames at the merest spark of anger.”

The neighbours chuckled at that, Scarla and Rowan exchanging an amused look.

“It’s taken us a while, but Summer has gotten to the point that I have nothing left to teach her – and for the time being, she has nothing left to learn. You’ll find that the fights have stopped, the temper has faded, and that all of your flammable items are safe once more.”

She paused in her words, turning to look at the freckled girl, who was shaking her head in amusement and slight vexation over her teacher’s words.

“But I can talk all I want, and it won’t make nearly as much an impact as seeing it for yourself. So, here we are.”

The elderly woman reached into her pocket, pulling out the same scorchened balls that had seen the playground many times, holding them up so her student could see them.

“Ready, Summer?”

With a nod, Yang grinned, and the heat began to rise.

They went from the basics upwards, methodically working their way through the lessons Summer had learned – from controlling her emotions, to letting the heat rise and fall, all the way up to summoning the flames. At each successful action, the crowd oohed and aahed, Autumn clapping and cheering loudly. When they reached the shield technique, and the last of the rubber balls became smears on the pavement, everyone had reached the point of applause, the sound filling the playground that until that point had only heard the laughter of elder and child.

Yang grinned at the crowd, then back to Summer, who stood waiting for the next command.

“One, final show,” the brawler said loudly, giving her student a nod, “go for it, kiddo.”

The girl grinned in response, casting her hands out, letting her fingertips catch alight. As the flames spread to the floor, she began her dance, shadows and light flickering across the faces of all those who watched. When the last swirl and spiral had finished, she let her semblance go out, the last of her flames disappearing into a puff of smoke that drifted into the air, dissipating into nothing.

Yang smiled contentedly as Summer showed the largest grin she’d seen from the girl, the sound of loud applause and cheering washing over her.

Summer’s training was over.

Autumn reached her sister first, launching at her with a squeal of delight. Summer caught her with a laugh, spinning her around as she hugged her close. Scarla and Rowan reached her next, hugging both of their daughters together, pride apparent on both their faces. The neighbours swarmed them next, offering up their congratulations, holding out hands for high fives.

Yang watched the celebration from a bit away, knowing that it was Summer’s turn for the attention, the applause. Autumn, however, didn’t think the same. The young Faunus’ attention had drifted from her sister, who was rapidly explaining her semblance to attentive neighbours, and over to the elderly woman who stood off to the side, watching the display with an expression of contentment.

“Yangy!”

The call caught the woman’s attention, who looked down just in time to react and catch Autumn before she could slam into her legs. Kneeling down to the girl’s level, Yang grinned at Summer’s sister.

“Hey, Autumn,” she said, “how’d you like that?”

Autumn didn’t reply with words. Instead, she all but threw herself at Yang, wrapping small arms around the brawler’s shoulders. Instinctively, Yang returned the hug, holding the small body close. Though Autumn spoke softly, Yang caught the words, the girl’s mouth beside her ear.

“Thank you,” Autumn whispered, “for helping my sister.”

Yang blinked back the tears that were threatening to show, replying with a squeeze of her arms, ignoring Autumn’s sudden giggles and protests.

“Hey!”

The call caught Yang’s attention, pulling her to the girl who stood before both of them, arms crossed in a threatening display (which was about as threatening as Ruby’s puppy eyes, but Yang wasn’t about to tell her that).

“What are you doing to my sister?”

Yang grinned and stood up, taking Autumn off the ground as she did so, ignoring her protesting bones as she swung the light girl up onto her shoulders.

“I’m taking her home with me!” she replied, narrowly holding back a snort at Summer’s overly dramatic reaction, “she’s far too cute to live with the likes of you!”

“More like you want to steal her youth for yourself!”

The argument fell into its usual pattern, playful banter, Summer chasing Yang across the playground, albeit slowly. Autumn enjoyed her position high up on Yang’s shoulders, directing her with soft tugs on her hair. Yang vaguely remembered a time when she would have punched anyone who did that through a wall; but now she allowed it, moving in the direction of the small tugs.

After a time of this she felt the weight lifted off her shoulders suddenly, Rowan snagging his daughter with ease as she went by, Autumn squealing as she was lifted into the air. Summer yelped and chased after her father, Yang instead turning to sit on the swing, trying to catch her breath. A chuckle beside her drew her attention to Scarla, who had taken a seat beside her.

“Out of breath?” the younger woman teased, acting just like her eldest daughter.

Yang took a moment to reply, pointing at the swing on which Scarla had sat.

“You know,” she answered, “there’s a reason Summer and I always leave a swing between us when we sit here. She threw up on that swing in our third lesson.”

Scarla yelped, jumping up from the swing as Yang half laughed, half wheezed. Scarla brushed herself off, then shot Yang a look, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“I see now who Summer gets her humour from,” she said, cut off by Yang’s sudden wagging of a finger.”

“Nuh-uh,” the elderly woman shot back, “don’t blame that one on me. I might have taught her how to use it, but you gave her that weapon in the first place.”

Scarla simply laughed at that, shaking her head in defeat. Their conversation was briefly interrupted as neighbours came up to them, offering words of gratitude to them both, as well as congratulations. Yang accepted them with handshakes and nods of her head, Scarla doing the same. When the last of the neighbours had trickled out of the playground, leaving behind Yang and the family she had come to know so well, Scarla sat down on Summer’s usual swing.

“You know,” she began, drawing Yang’s attention to her, “you really have done so much for us.”

Yang groaned softly, rolling her eyes at the reappearance of Scarla’s gratitude, but the younger woman cut her off by raising her hand.

“I know, I know. We thank you every time we see you. It’s just… I don’t know how to put into words just what you’ve done for us. It’s been far more than just teach Summer.”

Scarla’s gaze fell on her husband and her children, the three of them playing together, Rowan somehow having turned from an airplane into a jungle gym at some point.

“You didn’t just help our one daughter,” Scarla continued, “but really, you’ve helped all of us. Summer’s semblance was never something we knew how to fix on our own; it put us at odds with our friends and neighbours, even with each other sometimes. But then you showed up, and helped us with it. Yang, you helped us become a family again.

Rowan smiles a lot more now, and I find it easier to laugh – before, with the stress and not knowing how to fix things, it was hard for both of us to enjoy the good moments, knowing they’d be followed up by the bad. And Autumn? Autumn has always loved her sister, but Summer had a hard time with her for a while – I think she was convinced she’d hurt her sister with her semblance, so she tried to keep her distance. But that hurt Autumn just as much as any physical pain.”

Scarla sighed, pausing, but Yang waited for her to continue.

“You fixed all of that. You brought back our laughter, you fixed our relationships – you even gave Summer friends.”

At Yang’s attempts to deny that fact, Scarla shook her head.

“I know my daughter, Yang. She’s brave, and she’s stubborn, but even she wouldn’t have been able to show those kids what she did without you there to encourage her to do so.”

Yang shrugged at that, looking back to Rowan and the kids.

“We thank you a lot, I get it. But there aren’t words we can use to truly express how much this has meant to us. You didn’t just teach our daughter, Yang. You gave us our life back. You…”

Scarla trailed off, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“You gave us our family back.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I can’t say it was only for Summer.”

Scarla looked up at Yang, who was still in the process of gathering her words.

“It was also for myself, in some ways.”

Lilac eyes met Scarla’s, a smile working its way across the elderly woman’s face.

“Summer reminded me so much of myself. She still does, in many ways – she hates to admit it, I kind of hate to admit it, but it’s true.”

Scarla smiled at that, her own freckled cheeks rising with the grin.

“When I saw myself in her, I just couldn’t let her go on without any help, any support. I went through that; for the longest time, I struggled with my semblance on my own. And I couldn’t let Summer do the same.

“I’d love to say that this whole time, I’ve been doing it just for her. But I haven’t. I’ve been doing it for myself, as well – for the young girl I see in Summer, the one with the temper and the one who stands to protect her younger sister, even at the expense of her own life.”

Yang paused, shaking her head slightly as she smiled sadly.

“I’ve been doing it for the family I see in you all – the family I never got to have.”

A hand rested on top of hers, then. Yang looked at Scarla to find the woman staring back, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

“You’re part of our family, now,” she said, shaking her head at Yang’s chuckle, “I mean it! I think Autumn views you as some sort of weird aunt, and you’ve spent so long with us that you kind of seem related to us anyways. It’s an odd thing to say, I know, but I mean it. You’ve become part of our family.”

Yang laughed, her voice thick with her own tears, though she refused to let them show.

“Thanks, Scarla.”

“Anytime, Yang.”

The women sat together, listening to the laughter emanating across the playground, before Scarla asked a question.

“I know this seems like something my daughter is more inclined to ask, but how _are_ you so old?”

At Yang’s laugh, Scarla shot her a suspicious glare.

“You aren’t really using children’s youth to prolong your own life, are you?”

Yang let her laughter fade out slowly before answering.

“No, no,” she answered, waving a hand in denial, “to tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure that out for a while. I know Weiss and Pyrrha were too, before they passed away. I’ve got no idea why I’m the last one to go; dust knows I wasn’t anywhere close to the healthiest one of us.”

She paused, watching the family interact.

“I just think it’s something life decides for you.”

Scarla nodded, taking in the woman’s sagely advice. Then, before she could reply, Rowan gave a cry from across the playground.

“Alright, kids,” he called, “sic ‘em!”

Summer and Autumn turned, looks of childish evil on their faces, and sprinted towards the women on the swings. Yang rapidly pointed at Scarla, Scarla rapidly pointed at Yang, and both got a fast moving child launched at them.

They all swung back and forth, laughter filling the air, as Rowan came up to them, out of breath. Scarla smiled up at her husband, holding Autumn in her lap.

“Need a break, hun?” she asked, laughing at her husband’s tired nod in reply. Glancing down at the child in her lap, she addressed both of her daughters.

“How about we go home, hmm?”

Autumn cheered and leapt off, racing towards the entrance of the playground. Scarla stood, brushing her lap as she did so, Rowan already following Autumn. Summer slid off Yang’s lap, but stood beside the brawler as she stood, scuffing her feet against the pavement. Scarla paused halfway to the gate, turning back to look at her eldest daughter.

“You coming, Summer?”

Summer nodded at her mother, then jerked her head in Yang’s direction.

“You go on ahead,” she said, “we’ll catch up in a minute.”

Scarla looked back and forth between the pair, then nodded, turning to catch up to her husband and other child. The trio left, rounding the corner with laughter and loud conversation, until they were finally out of sight.

Yang and Summer stood in silence, the former waiting for the latter to speak, figuring she had a reason for keeping the two of them behind. Summer seemed to be fighting with herself, trying to build up the courage to say or do something. They stood in silence for one minute, then two, and by the third minute, Yang was ready to ask. Just before she did, however, Summer moved into action.

Arms wrapped around her middle, and Yang found herself being awkwardly hugged by her student. Blinking in confusion, she knelt slightly, allowing Summer to properly hug her, before she returned the embrace. They stayed like that for a while, teacher and student, elder and child. Then Summer let go slightly, leaning back so she could speak freely.

“Thank you.”

The words were expected, but were quiet, and filled with more emotion than Yang had ever heard her speak with before. It wasn’t the first time she’d been thanked by Summer, not the first time she’d been thanked that day, but this was the apology that brought tears to her eyes, for reasons she couldn’t even place.

Yang leaned back, keeping her hands on Summer’s shoulders as she did so, keeping eye contact with the young girl.

“You’re welcome.”

Summer smiled wide at the reply, before launching back to hug her again, knocking the brawler backwards. She landed in a sitting position, chuckling with her student as they hugged again, albeit for much shorter. This time it was Summer who pulled away first, stepping back and rocking back and forth on her heels, waiting for Yang to get to her feet.

The brawler did so, slowly, and Summer turned to race towards the way back home – but Yang called out to her, telling her to wait for a moment. Jerking her head towards the swings, Yang made her way over first, Summer sauntering over after, a curious expression on her face.

They sat in their usual spots, Yang reaching around to grab the package Summer had brought when they’d first met up, a box wrapped in white paper, tied with a yellow ribbon. She turned back to Summer, and held it out.

The girl took it tentatively, before pulling it into her lap. She looked up at Yang, waiting for confirmation, who granted it with a smile and slight nod of her head. Hesitation gone, Summer made quick work of the ribbon, ripping off the paper with the usual glee of a child opening a gift. Below it sat a plain white box – Yang took in a deep breath as Summer reached for the lid, then lifted it slowly.

That was the first thing that filled both their visions, folds of yellow fabric, neatly nestled in the box. Summer reached out slowly with small hands, grasping hold of the cloth, lifting it gently from the box. The fabric spilled out around her hands, falling into shape as she pulled it out.

Summer held a yellow cloak, identical to the red one that hung in Yang’s huntress room, albeit much smaller, ideal for a child. The colour was bright despite the years of age, years of being hidden away – the same colour Yang’s hair had been, back in her prime.

Summer studied the cloak, shifting the fabric this way and that, watching the way the hood tilted back and the fabric shone in the sun, soft in her hands. Yang smiled as she watched the girl’s ministrations, knowing that had she opened the gift all those years ago, she would have done the same. Eventually, Summer’s eyes fell on the tag sewn in by the collar – one than made her frown in slight confusion, the name familiar, yet perplexing.

_Made with love from Summer._

The second Summer Yang had come to know frowned, looking at her teacher in confusion, who simply chuckled at the look on her face. The elderly woman held her hands out, taking hold of the yellow cloak as it was passed to her. She studied the tag herself, running a thumb across it, feeling the soft fabric underneath. She glanced back to Summer, who was still looking at her in confusion.

“Not you, obviously,” Yang admitted with a laugh, raising the cloak slightly to indicate what she meant, “this was from the first Summer I knew. Ruby’s mom. The woman who raised me.”

Summer’s expression cleared up, and she smiled, taking the cloak that was handed back to her. She studied it, then looked back up at her teacher.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

Yang smiled, then leaned back on her swing before she began to talk.

“Summer gave that to me for my fifth birthday,” she began, “but she was no longer to actually give it to me. She… she’d died by then.”

Summer’s expression turned sorrowful at that, and she looked back to the cloak. Yang chuckled at the response, at the sadness that filled a girl over a woman who only connected to her through their namesake.

“It was a long time ago, if that helps,” Yang continued, “once she’d made Ruby a cloak, I pestered her nonstop to make me one. She did, of course – but by the time it was ready to be given to me, she was gone. My dad gave it to me instead, but I knew who it was from all the same, and I always knew what it was, despite having never opened it.”

Summer startled at that, surprised over the information. Yang grinned at the reaction.

“Yup, you’re the first to open it! That’s even the wrapping Summer gave it to me in.”

The second Summer looked guiltily at the ruined wrapping around her, but Yang only laughed.

“Don’t worry, I would have done the same. At least one of us did.”

Then she smiled, folded her hands in her lap, and studied the ground before her.

“Summer wasn’t my real mom, like I told you. But even though she wasn’t, and even though I always call her by her first name, she really was more of a mom to me than anyone else ever was. She meant a lot to me; she never considered the lack of a blood relationship to mean she wasn’t my mother. And when she died, I…”

Yang paused, swallowing.

“I knew I had to be to Ruby what Summer was to me. I had to look after her in Summer’s stead. I wasn’t nearly as good at it, but I tried, and it turned out okay!”

She looked back at Summer, who studied her intently, listening raptly.

“It was on that cloak,” Yang explained softly, “that I promised to look after my sister. I never opened it – I always knew what was inside – but it was what I promised on; Summer’s final gift to me. And over the years, that promise spread to Blake and Weiss, and eventually to all my friends.”

Yang felt a tear slip down her face; she ignored it, took a deep breath, and pressed on.

“I promised myself I would look after them as long as I could, in any way I could. And I kept that promise through my entire life, until everyone I had made that promise for was gone, and I had fulfilled it.”

She reached out a shaking hand, and tapped the cloak gently, finger slightly indenting the yellow fabric.

“But it all started with this cloak, and a promise to look after my sister.”

Summer smiled at her, looking between the cloak and her mentor. Yang took a deep breath, and finished her explanation, reaching out her hand to tap Summer on the chest once more.

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I kept my promise – I looked after my sister, even to the end of her days. I spent my life caring for my family and my friends, and this cloak always reminded me of that fact. Whenever I lost my way in life, and even when I began to lose the friends I cared about, I would find this gift, and remind myself of the promises I had yet to keep.”

She pulled her hand back, wiping away the tears that now fell freely.

“You don’t have to dedicate your life to looking after everyone else; that’s what I chose to do, but in no way does that mean you have to do the same. But I know you look after your sister with your entire heart, and I know how much she means to you.”

One final breath, and the last of the words spilled out.

“So I’m giving this to you, so it can remind you of that fact every time you see it. So that later in life, down the road, when you face a tough spot, you can remind yourself how much she means to you – you can remember that no matter what, you always have your sister.”

The silence that fell between them was different from the rest; one that followed emotion in the same way smoke follows a flame. Summer was watching Yang, understanding in the depths of her eyes. She broke the eye contact a moment later, turning as she lifted the cloak again, studying for the second time the tag that held her name.

Then she lifted it, twirled it around herself, and fastened it. It hung off her – still slightly large; Summer always did make them to grow into – and bunched up on the edges of the swing, falling down behind her like a cape. Yang smiled wide at the sight, tears collecting in the corners of her upturned mouth and dripping down from her chin. She wiped the last of them away with weathered palms, opening her eyes once more to see Summer standing in front of her, yellow draped across her shoulders.

Yang smiled at her, giving her a small thumbs up – Summer laughed in reply, lifting the folds of the cloak before dropping them and looking back at her teacher with an expression of concern.

“Is it really okay for me to wear it?”

Yang laughed, nodding repeatedly.

“Of course it is,” she replied, “it’s yours now, after all.”

Then she paused and frowned slightly, as an afterthought came to her.

“Just maybe don’t wear it when you’re all sweaty.”

Summer giggled, then reached into her pocket, pulling out the yellow ribbon that had been tied around the gift. She leaned forwards and, before Yang could protest, wrapped it around the brawler’s head, tying it tight into a bow.

“There,” she said amidst rapid giggles, “now you can pretend you have blonde hair again!”

Yang scowled in response, but her snappy retort was cut off before she could say it, by a meow that emanated from the nearby bushes.

Their eyes focused on it as a black cat came out, meowing affectionately before weaving through Summer’s legs, brushing up against them. The young girl giggled, reaching down to pet its soft fur as it made its way over to Yang, who reached down to scratch its ears. The elderly woman paused a moment later, before giving a sound of delight and snatching up the cat, who gave a surprised yelp.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Yang shouted, examining the cat’s front paw.

“Language!” Summer chastised, before laughing at Yang’s unamused glare in return, “what’s up with the cat?”

Yang grinned and turned the cat to face Summer. After a moment of silent study, Summer quirked an eyebrow to Yang, still not getting what the point was.

“I used to feed a cat,” Yang explained, words tumbling quickly from her mouth, “or, well, Blake did, and I did once she died. We had this one cat with six toes – she stayed around the longest, so I’d always wondered what happened to her once she stopped appearing.”

She thrust the cat out again, and Summer this time caught the six toes on the front paw, laughing as she realized what Yang was getting at.

“Looks like you found her son!” Summer exclaimed, before frowning in contemplation, “wait, how long ago was that cat? Is it her grandson? Great-grandso–”

“Hilarious, you joker,” Yang replied, before standing up and holding the cat out to her student, “here, have a cat.”

Summer took him, holding him much like a baby. The cat didn’t seem to mind in the least, starting to purr as she giggled and pet his ears. Yang smiled at the sight, before Summer spoke softly.

“Mum always did want a cat.”

Yang grinned at this.

“Well, then, take him home!”

Summer’s head shot up in confusion.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Yang replied, shrugging, “if you guys really can’t take him in, I will.”

She paused, looking thoughtful.

“Also, tell Autumn he’s a gift from me. That way I won’t get in trouble for giving you a gift, and not her.”

Summer laughed, but rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she agreed, “but you have to help me name him.”

“Fine,” Yang consented, rolling her own eyes in response, “got any ideas?”

Summer made a noise of consideration, before her entire face lit up and she grinned wide.

“How about Blake?”

“No.”

The words were out before Summer had even finished her sentence, Yang having anticipated the suggestion. Summer pouted dramatically, but Yang didn’t relent.

“Still no. Try again.”

“Belladonna?”

“Seriously?”

“How about just Bella?”

“You’ve hit a tangent here, haven’t you?”

Summer laughed, before she glanced back down to the cat, who stared back up at her with wide eyes.

“What about Noire?”

Yang’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, before realization hit and she narrowed her eyes.

“Changing the language does not change what it translates back to!”

Summer giggled, but Yang rolled her eyes and relented.

“Fine, I can live with Noire.”

A cheer met her consent, as well as a cat lifted high into the air, eerily similar to an action from a movie.

“Whoa, watch the cat! Cats have claws!”

Summer laughed at this, continuing to hold out the cat, who apparently was a saint in its past life, and still possessed the patience to prove it.

Yang batted paws away from her, before sighing and glancing at the sky. Summer followed her eyes to the cloudless blue, glancing back at her teacher.

“Doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, regardless of what your bones tell you.”

Yang glared at her – just because she was accustomed to the jokes by now didn’t mean she had to like them. Summer only giggled, before she realized how long they’d been in the park.

“Oops,” she said, “guess Mum’s wondering where we’ve gone…”

Yang laughed, reaching out and tugging Summer’s hood down over her eyes – she protested, spluttering, and nearly dropped the cat in her actions to pull it back up. Noire abandoned ship almost immediately, and this time, Yang scooped him up, waiting for Summer to finish struggling with the garment.

When she’d finally pulled it back, she sent a glare to her mentor, who stuck her tongue out in return. She sauntered over to the pile of paper, collecting it and returning to her teacher’s side, glancing up at Yang.

“Ready to head home, kiddo?”

“Anytime. Also, don’t call me kiddo.”

They set off, one with an armful of paper, the other with an armful of cat, squabbling the entire way. Hipchecking one another didn’t do much to help, either – the size difference only added to the hilarity for the watching passerby.

“Careful, Yang, you’ll break your hip!”

“Can you even reach my hip?”

“I’m not that short!”

“Uh, hate to break it to you, Summer, but I think if the cat stands on his hind legs he’ll be taller than you.”

“Well, whatever. You know you’re still wearing the ribbon right?”

“I’m aware. In fact, I think I quite like this new makeover.”

“Yeah, but no matter what you do, it’s still not going to bring back your blonde hair. Can you at least tie the ribbon around Noire? You look like someone trying to be cool.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this _embarrass_ you?”

Their conversation continued, laughter punctuating teasing and not-so-scathing comebacks as they retreated down the street. Eventually, they turned the corner, out of sight of the playground where they had first met.

The swings still moved back and forth slightly, reminiscent of those who had sat in them not long ago, as their laughter echoed down the street, fading into the afternoon air.

* * *

 

 _Today is Yang’s birthday. She is ninety-four._ At least, she would be, were she still around to celebrate it. The sun beat down on Beacon’s memorial field, warm and welcoming in the day’s afternoon. A light breeze blew, tossing about hair and grass and leaves about, rustling the golden cloak of a girl who sat in the field alone. There was no one else around her, the time of day unusual for guests and visitors.

Summer sat before a row of four, the weathered planks speaking their ages – the fourth, the one directly before her, newer than the rest. The golden fabric around her hung across her frame, less and less large on her each day, as she grew into it. The young girl grew more and more each day, though if she were honest with herself, Yang still would have told her she was far too short to think anything of herself yet. But Yang, of course, wasn’t around to actually say the comment, so Summer continued telling people she was growing taller every day.

Regardless of her self-proclaimed growth, however, the cloak was still a bit big on Summer, extra cloth pooling around the girl’s ankles as she sat in the warm sun. She held in her hand a sunflower, the colour of the petals matching the fabric, matching the colour her teacher’s hair had once been. Reaching out, she lay it before the fourth plank, taking a moment to study the flaming heart engraved into the wood.

On her left sat another three, each engraved with their own symbol, each with a flower placed before them. Summer always brought flowers for Yang’s team – occasionally she did for her other friends, as well, but more often than not, she simply brought them hellos. Today was one of those days, with Summer making sure to say hi to everyone else in the field – Pyrrha, Sun, Velvet, and many others – before she sat down in front of Yang and her team.

She’s never met any of them, not in person, but Yang had showed her which planks to look for the first time the woman had brought her to the field. Ever since then, with Yang beside her or not, Summer had made sure to greet all the people she knew – she’d never know them in person, but she knew of them, and that was reason enough to say hello.

But it is with Yang she sits with the most, Yang’s spot that she spends most of her time in the field. Occasionally she’ll talk to Ruby, or Weiss, or Blake, but more often than not it’s the woman who taught her that she speaks to, the woman who told her about the rest. Her teacher, her mentor, her friend.

There’s no specific conversation topic she has whenever she visits, so Summer tells Yang about whatever comes to mind – about school, about her family, about the neighbourhood. She mentions Scarla and Rowan, talks about how their real free-spirited aunt came to visit (Autumn asked if she was sisters with Yang, much to the woman’s confusion). She mentions the former bullies at school, and how she goes to the library with them on Thursdays – and especially mentions that she found a bunch of Blake’s books in the library, donated a long time ago, but with “B. Belladonna” neatly written in the covers.

She talks about Autumn, how the girl has started school, and how she’s already made lots of friends, to her delight. She mentions the neighbours, the park, Yang’s house, and the cat – the cat who, apparently, loves tuna more than anything else. She mentions how everything in Yang’s huntress room was given to museums, to Beacon, to Signal, as the brawler had intended – their class is even planning to go see the new exhibit.

But most of all, Summer just shares things about herself – what she’s done, what she’s accomplished. She talks about her semblance sometimes, but often shares just everyday things. About how she’s not sure what she wants to be someday, but how Autumn speaks highly of hunters and huntresses.

She never does know if Yang is listening or not, but she always feels like she is – the air grows a little warmer, the sun shines a little brighter. There’s always a warmth that passes, like the feeling when you put your hand in a patch of sunlight. So Summer talks and talks, sharing her life with the woman who can’t reply, but might hear her all the same.

Summer finishes talking, closing her story with a wild gesture of her hands, giggling at the memory. Then she sits in silence for a moment, before reaching into her cloak and rummaging around, before she pulls out three familiar items. A card with a five year old’s drawings on the cover, a card with neat, elegant handwriting in it, and a card that sings an awful rendition of “Happy Birthday” whenever she opens it.

She then pulls out a candle, small and striped, and calls up the flame inside her, feeling it come to life with a spreading warmth. The fire at her fingertips lights the candle, and she makes sure to keep it away from the other objects – careful as she might always been with her semblance, there’s always a sense of caution that arises when using fire in the middle of a field of wooden planks.

Keeping the candle held tight in one hand, she reached out with the other, opening the three cards in quick succession – a practiced movement, to keep everything in synchronization. A moment later, words come flooding out from the card, in a familiar tune – and, for the first time in a very, very long time, another voice joins in.

Summer sings along, alone in the field, but not in song. The voices of those gone before she could meet them sing along with her, the sound drifting across the open field, adrift on the breeze, mingling with the warm air. It’s an odd sight, an odd sound, but it’s one that is welcome.

And in the field, with the sound of laughter and song, Yang’s flame continues to burn on, in Summer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done!! It's been a long time coming - I think it was four months since the last chapter? Either way, it's finally finished.
> 
> So, so much thanks to everyone who read this - to those of you who commented, gave it kudos, or even just clicked on the link (even if you closed it after three lines). I probably wouldn't have finished it without your support. I hope you enjoyed the story! ...Even if it made a lot of you sad. I'm going to write a happier fic next time.
> 
> But anyways, thanks for reading! See you in the next story.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was an idea that I got after work one day, which I then couldn't stop thinking about for the next two weeks. I finally got around to writing it, after a long time of sitting and just coming up with more ways to write about sad things. I'm not the fastest writer, so the chapters might be slow - but I won't abandon it, that's for sure. I make myself sad by thinking about it far too much to not share with other people. Enjoy!
> 
> Side note: if anyone's on tumblr, you can find me by the same username.


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